A Soldier's Tale
by elle-nora
Summary: Now complete! Niebos 2011The Watchers finally have access to the mysterious immortal known as Phillip, Swordmaster of Alexander the Great. What will they ask him? What stories will he tell? And why is this storyteller so reluctant to share his past?
1. Prelude

_**A Soldier's Tale**_

_Old soldiers never die… they just fade away.  
_Gen. Douglas MacArthur

**Prelude  
****Niebos, December 2010:**

"Are you certain this thing is on?" The man the Watchers now knew as Phillip, Swordmaster of Alexander the Great, shifted nervously in his leather armchair. For a man who loved to tell stories, Phillip now seemed extremely uncomfortable.

"It's on. It will pick up every word." The elderly Watcher, Stefan Portocullis assured the twenty-five-hundred year old immortal that all was as it should be with a smile and a gentle gesture of his hand.

"Hmmph! So what is it exactly that you wish to know?" Phillip said clearing his throat. It was one thing to tell grand stories to his immortal friends and mortal acquaintances and lovers over the centuries; it was quite another for his words to be permanently immortalized in Watcher archives as truth… or at least his understanding of truth.

"We wish to know your life."

"What do the Chronicles say?" Phillip scratched at his beard, then folded his arms across his barrel chest in resignation.

"Our first mention of you is in Constantinople about the first century B.C. Someone calling himself the "Swordmaster of Alexander the Great" defeated and beheaded Marcus Septimus… a rather angry and volatile immortal."

"Oh… him. Well… he wouldn't listen. I warned him to stop."

"Yes… the Watcher Idan, a slave in Septimus' household said as much. By the way he was most pleased that his master and assignment lost the challenge."

"He was?"

"Yes… Septimus often beat his slaves."

"Hmmph!" replied Phillip.

"He lost sight of you… as his status as slave of a household did not allow him to travel freely… but that is the first reference the Watchers had of you." Portocullis shrugged. "Later, of course, when the name came up again in the fifth century in Delhi… your challenge to Kabir Mellan for his insults and mistreatment of the villagers of Santush… one of our researchers did some work on a Chronicle for you."

"What did they put together?"

"In brief, that there was some indication that an immortal may have taught the young Macedonian Alexander how to use a sword as a boy… and then fought at his side during his campaign to conquer the world. Soon after Alexander's early death, the immortal vanished. The two incidents I mentioned, were added on and a portrait of an immortal who was quite good with a sword… who had a sense of honor and fair play… as well as a sense of humor… was established. The reference to Alexander became, in time the only way anyone ever thought they might have seen you. By the time a profile was developed and a Watcher assigned to locate and follow you after your next appearance… well…" Portocullis shrugged, "you'd pretty much vanished. We were always a day late in finding you."

Phillip smiled. "Well… I never did like being followed."

"When did you learn of us?"

Phillip leaned back, his hands behind his head as he pursed his brows. "Oh… about the first century in Rome. Antinous… that's how I knew Methos for two thousand years… told me. He was anxious to remain out of sight… of these mortals he'd discovered who Watched. For us to be able to meet and party occasionally, he wanted to be certain I knew of and could avoid you people. Of course," Phillip winked, "I thought he was a young upstart."

"You didn't know who he was?"

"No… not until he told me. You must understand… Those of us with lifelines ranging in the thousands of years… usually have tried to stay very quiet about how old we are. It always seemed safer."

"And now?"

"Now?" Phillip chuckled and gestured toward the microphone. "Now it is for the eldest of us to lead the way if we are to survive."

"Duncan MacLeod isn't that old."

"No? But then he has a strength of identity and self and the passion of a man in his prime to change the world. I follow his lead." Phillip folded his hands before him once more.

"And talk to us…" The old Watcher smiled in invitation.

Phillip nodded. "Now then… what do you want to know?"

Portocullis waved an arm about him. "Let's start with Niebos. You were born here… correct? Why is this place so special?"

Phillip shook his head. "No… my second life was here. I came here as a youth. My first real training with a sword was here. But I left here while still a young man and fought in many campaigns before dying and learning I was an immortal. But Niebos has always been the touchstone of my life."

"Then let us begin there… Tell me the first time you set eyes upon the island."

"The first time?" Phillip's eyes glossed over and a small smile touched the corners of his lips so that he appeared wistful. "The first time…" he repeated.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_**The Island of Niebos, ca. 500 B.C.E.:**_

It was my first journey by ship. Up to that time, I'd been a slave in the household of Archelous, a general of Thebes. He was not by nature a cruel master… simply an impatient one some times. I have no memories of life before his household… so cannot tell how I came to be there.

While still very small, I learned that if I were quick and clever, I could avoid mistreatment at either his hands or those of the house manager. I carried firewood, I carried platters of food, and I carried gifts for my master… accepting them from those who offered them… and being the one who brought them for his inspection. As I grew older… I became a food taster. Most households had them… poison was all too common. I came to sleep in my master's room… and sometimes in his bed. As far as I was concerned… life was as it should be.

I was warm, cared for, and well fed.

The Theban king selected Archelous to lead a force from Thebes against Assyrian invaders massing on the western shores of what is now Asia Minor, and was concerned as the local priests foresaw some problem for this campaign… but could say nothing more. Archelous, therefore, determined to visit one of the oracles. Perhaps because its location was on his way to the shores of battle, he chose to drop anchor at Niebos… and the Oracle of Poseidon. He took me with him.

I was about twelve at the time… not yet old enough to fight… yet too young to remain behind. He'd been training me some with the use of spear and sword… and had promised me my freedom when I was old enough to serve in combat. Like most boys of that age… I was eager for the chance to prove myself in battle. Ah… the impetuous nature of youth that sees only the glory… and not the carnage of war.

As it was… Archelous dropped anchor near what is the village… at the time… only a cluster of stone huts huddled on the shore. The great stone dock was there as it is now. The villagers then as now… believed in the power of the gods… and saw their lives as ones of service and protection. I didn't know it then, of course. I stood by the rail of Archelous' ship and stared at the village, the villagers going about their normal activities, the mountain that led to the temple complex at its summit, and the long winding path, filled with pilgrims who also sought a word with the oracle.

I knew nothing of the reverence the pilgrims felt as they made their way slowly up the mountain. Nor did I know where the oracle was. I only knew we were here for Archelous to ask his question about the coming battle… and that then… we would leave.

As the ship weighed anchor next to the dock, villagers plied the ship's complement with offers of fresh fruit, bread, cooked meat on skewers, bolts of fine cloth and small statues carved from the obsidian found on the mountain's sides. Those who came without proper tribute for the gods sometimes purchased it from the villagers, or sometimes… it was just food for the journey up the mountain.

My master waved them aside indignantly. He'd brought his own tribute… an ebony chest filled with gold coin and precious jewels collected from his many campaigns over the years. Archelous thought he understood the greedy nature of priests… and that his tribute to the oracle would facilitate our being ushered to the front of the line. He bade me carry the open chest behind him as he and I departed the ship and headed toward the mountain.

He was in for a surprise.

No amount of tribute would turn the heads of the novices ushering penitents onto the trail that zigzagged up the face of Mt. Niebos then as it does now. We would have to take the long trail up… and wait our turn. He realized it might be several days before our turn arrived to stand before the oracle.

It was then that he chose another course of action… one that had profound effects on my life. He broke the rules.

Archelous noted pilgrims arriving in the village by a path along the shore. He'd also noted them along this path from sea… and that it had led from the small cove where the oracle read the words of the gods in the sea-spray at low tide.

I can still recall the glee on his face as he realized that no one was guarding that path. He motioned for me to follow and led the way along it. I recall passing a few people who looked at us strangely, but being a boy… and a slave… I thought they were staring at the tribute in my arms. Until the night Reagan and I buried Valeraine at the cove… I've never gone that way again.

My first sight of the cove of Poseidon was a stunning one. The sun was high in the sky and warm sea breezes blew on my face as I saw the jagged cliff-face towering above the crescent of white sand. Along the steps carved into the cliff, were pilgrims awaiting their turn. All along the carved stairs were white-garbed young novices… assisting the pilgrims… helping them as they waited and descended. On the beach itself was an old man I came to later know was Orpheum, the chief priest. He strummed a lyre and chanted as each pilgrim came forward and knelt in the surf to cry their question to the oracle.

Ah… the oracle. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Taller than any woman I'd met, she swayed hypnotically in the water. From where I stood she seemed to float above the surface of the waves and dance in the crashing surf. Her low voice hummed and chanted her replies as she moved about and waved her arms in the dance. She was a sight to behold.

Her black hair was loose about her shoulders and drops of water sparkled in the sunlight on her long locks. Like the others, she was dressed in white linen. I could see no jewel or sparkle of gold on her or on any of the others. When she answered the pilgrim's questions… he or she would rise and bow and leave along the path we'd arrived on.

Archelous stepped forward onto the beach. I remember Orpheum glancing up at him with a startled expression and two of the novices swiftly descending onto the beach. The oracle was suddenly motionless in the water as the waves continued to crash about her and pound the beach.

My master fell to his knees and bowed low… prostrating himself in the water. "Oh mighty Voice of the Gods… one comes humbly to ask guidance," he said. I stood quietly behind him and bowed at the waist… afraid to meet her eyes.

"My words are for those who journey up the mountain… not for thieves in the night."

"I bring great tribute and my need is great." He motioned me forward so that my feet were in the water. Again I bowed, but I'd noted her looking at me intently. I held out the box of tribute.

"I have no words for you," she replied and motioned for the novices to escort my master and me off the beach.

"Great Lady," Archelous continued, shrugging off the gentle hands of the two who tried to take his arms. "I lead my troops into a great war. I ask for guidance and the blessings of the gods. My need is great and time is of the essence."

"Time?" she replied with a laugh. "Time is important for all who come to hear the truth. If others can climb the mountain, even the old and sick, can you not who are young and hearty? Be gone! I have no words for you!" Again she motioned.

My master snatched the tribute from my arms and stepped further into the water until he was waist deep. He held it out to her. "Many can benefit from my gift. Send me not away!"

She moved some steps closer. Again it seemed she walked the water's surface. The effect was dazzling as the waves crashed around her and the sunlight shone through the spray like a thousand diamonds. "Then climb the mountain." She turned and walked back to where she had been.

From the cliff-face came jeers and taunts of others that we were holding up the line. Never had I seen my master so angry. His face was livid as he stormed out of the water and shoved the chest back into my arms. He hesitated as if to turn and press his case once more, then he turned to storm back along the path upon which we'd come.

I followed, but evidently not quickly enough. He grabbed my shoulder angrily and pushed me ahead of him. I stumbled and fell… the tribute was scattered on the rocks and sand.

I was never clear on what happened next. He began lashing at me angrily so that his blows fell one after the other and his foot connected with my chest several times. All the while he was calling down curses on my clumsiness. I recall an explosion of pain so great that I nearly blacked out and felt sick to my stomach. I pulled in and began to retch upon the sand.

His blows stopped and I realized that the oracle and her novices had pulled him off of me.

"There is no reason to take out your anger on the child!" I heard her say.

"He's my slave! What business is it of yours?" He must have pulled free of her restraint as he kicked me again. "Get up!" he shouted at me.

"I am making it my business," she replied.

I rolled over on my back, realizing that my right arm was broken. It flopped and waves of fire and pain traveled along it. Understand… I'd never been beaten before… well not like this. I was having trouble even seeing by this point, much less in understanding what I did see or hear.

"You offer tribute? Then hear now the words of the gods. None shall return from this fool's crusade. Death will claim all of you." Her voice seemed filled with great sadness.

My master snarled and pulled me to my feet. I screamed in pain as I fell to my knees and his blows descended on me again.

Again he was pulled off of me.

She knelt beside me and I felt her cool hand on my fevered brow as I wept. I was vaguely aware that she picked up a great diamond that lay not far from me. "I accept your tribute. But I return to you this stone in exchange for the boy." She rose and held it out to him.

My master sputtered… evidently determined to take me with him.

"Touch him not again," she said. "Or death will find you long before you leave this place."

Archelous pulled free of the two novices holding him and straightened with all the dignity I had ever seen of him. He held out his hand for the stone, then pivoted and marched away along the path. It was the last time I ever saw him. I recall reaching out to him with my good arm and calling his name… but he never turned.

The oracle knelt beside me once more. "I need to set his arm and tie it down. Carry him then to the temple." She ran a hand through my hair and, leaning close to my ear, whispered to me to sleep… and I slept.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

How long I slept is unknown to me. It was night when I first awoke, but whether it was that night or the next I have no idea. My broken right arm was bound tightly to my chest with strips of linen torn, I later learned, from the oracle's own gown.

A flame burned in an oil lamp and shadows flickered on the plain stone walls. A hand slipped beneath my head and raised it, while another offered me wine to drink. It was laced with something stronger… some drug that eased my pain and sent me once more into the sleep of Morpheus, where in dreams, her voice soothed me and I floated on the waves of the ocean… safe and secure.

I awoke several times to much the same. Sometimes I could tell it was daylight as light filtered through the linen over the opening to the room. Sometimes I could hear thunder in the sky and the patter of raindrops as they splashed to the earth.

Always there were voices, laughter, music and song.

I dreamed I dwelt among the clouds on Mt. Olympus with gods who were forever young and beautiful.

At last there came a time when I awakened and did not feel sick, nor did the pain of my arm overwhelm me. I was offered water to drink rather than wine and a warm broth. I lay on the pallet and stared at the young novice who was caring for me.

Her dark hair was piled high on her head while tendrils draped over her long white neck. She was slightly older than me I figured, and she had lovely violet eyes with long black lashes, high cheekbones and a high forehead.

"Mistress says you are better," she laughed. "Are you?"

I recall looking about for the oracle.

As if she knew for whom I searched, the girl, whose name was Thalassa and who became in time one of my greatest friends during my life there, laughed as though she knew for whom I sought. "The Lady is below at the cove. It is low tide and the pilgrims are many."

I focused on the girl and mumbled my thanks. "Has she been here often?" I asked.

"Every day and every night when she has not been at the cove… she has been here. She set your arm and has checked it several times. She mixed the drugs for your sleep herself as though she did not wish to trust to others for fear of them being too strong.

I recall smiling and praying that I would be awake when next she came to my bedside so that I could properly thank her. I rather think I was a bit besotted with her. She was like some glorious vision that did not quite seem real to me at the time. She seemed touched by magic… and a conduit of the will of the gods.

Thalassa soaked some bits of bread in the broth and slowly fed them to me. "If you can keep this down, Mistress says we may try fruit or bits of meat tomorrow."

I have to admit, my stomach growled at the thought of solid food.

I was still awake when the hush of voices outside my room let me know that she had arrived. One of the priestesses held aside the linen that covered the door as the oracle bent to enter. Thalassa bowed and withdrew from my side to make way for the Lady herself.

That was the first time I got a really good look at her. Her hair, as I'd noticed before, was thick, heavy and black as it was with many of the women of Greece. But her eyes were green like the leaves of trees in the spring. Her tanned face was wide with high cheekbones and a low brow. Her nose turned upward slightly above a cupid's bow of a mouth with fine full lips. When she smiled, I could see strong even white teeth. Her voice was as it had been in my dream… low… sensuous and warm. It sounded rich as honey to my young ears and her touch on my brow was still cool.

"Your fever has broken at last," she said with a smile.

"He managed water and several sips of broth," Thalassa added from nearby, "As well as a few bites of bread soaked in the broth."

"Then he is on the mend. What shall we do with you?"

I recall bowing my head slightly and looking down. "I am your slave. I will do whatever is required." I still recalled how she'd bought me from Archelous.

She laughed. "Well… I gave him back his diamond. Ghastly thing! Too pretentious for us, here. Those who come for advice must give from the heart. Poseidon does not care for careless gifts."

"If you please, Lady," I said, my lip trembling. "Surely he will not die for beating me. It was his right. I was careless."

She sighed heavily as tears sparkled in her green eyes. "All men die. It is a gift that comes to the worthy. Never fear death… it is your friend." She smiled then. "And what should I call you?"

I gave her the name my master had called me. "That is a slave's name. No… we have no slaves here… only those who freely serve the will of the gods. I think I shall call you Nikos… which means victory."

She rose then to leave.

"Pardon, Lady," I dared. "What do I call you?"

"I am Danaë," she said towering over my form on the pallet, seemingly a creature of both light and shadow. "In this life… that is my name."

"This life?" I asked.

Her face grew very thoughtful. "I have lived many lives young Nikos. It is the burden of my fate. I sinned greatly in my youth, and now do the will of the gods to expiate my sin."

"What sin could you have done?"

"Ask me another day when you are older. Perhaps I shall tell you." She swept out of the room, and with her leaving, my world seemed darker.

I did not see her again for several days. Thalassa was usually there when I awoke and helped me with my convalescent needs and my feeding. Days passed and my strength, such as it was, began to return to me. The day finally came when I felt well enough to rise from the pallet and to venture forth out of my room.

I stood blinking in the bright afternoon sun as it beat down on the mountaintop. Around me were several small stone huts gathered around a _portico_ of columns. To one side four novices prepared food in an open kitchen while elsewhere others were weaving or dying cloth. In the distance… I saw the line of pilgrims as they reached the top of the mountain. Most spread out on low stone walls to rest and eat. Others immediately crossed to the _portico_ where they left their offerings and then joined the line of those waiting to descend the stone stairs.

Everywhere was singing and laughter. This was not a temple of awe and wonder… but the home of those who joyfully served the gods and by extension the pilgrims. What remains today on the mountain are the ruins of later years as the complex grew in status, and grandeur. But in those early days, it was a humble affair.

If pilgrims needed food, they were fed. If rains came… they were given shelter. The old and the crippled made the climb… even if offered the shorter way. It was a testament of faith and dedication to climb the mountain and wait patiently for the words of the oracle.

Unlike at Delphi where the wealthy went and offered great gifts for answers, here the poor came and offered their hearts and what they could afford. Whatever it was… was enough. I don't think Danaë ever concerned herself about the amount that was given… only that the hearts of the pilgrims were honest and true.

In my first days there, I learned how she had appeared. The islanders had seen her approach on the waters at the cove and believed she was one of the Naiads sent by Poseidon. At first she denied it… but as she spent time in the cove, gazing longingly at the ocean… the story spread… and soon people came asking of her the will of the gods.

Little by little the forms were set down by which people would climb the mountain and descend the steep cliff-face to ask their question. I think it was a way to stem the flow of the people. That way, she would never be overwhelmed by them. She saw them all… all who climbed the mountain. She stood in the waters of the cove every day and night at low tide and answered their questions. By the time they faced her… they'd thought long and hard about their question… and worded it carefully.

I think she listened to their hearts and told them what they needed to know. As for Archelous… I think she told him his greatest fear.

She had been there for centuries before I was born it was said. I didn't believe it then, of course. I just assumed she was a woman favored by the gods who was the latest in a long line of oracles. The concept of someone living for centuries never crossed my mind. Only the gods lived forever.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The days that followed were joyful ones as I moved among the residents of the temple complex and as I became stronger… I helped situate the pilgrims who chose to rest upon reaching the complex and to answer questions.

A few weeks later, Danaë removed the linen bandages that held my arm to my chest for the last time. It was a withered looking thing by then and I sighed in despair.

"What's the matter?" she asked me as she laughed gently.

"I'd wanted to be a soldier. Archelous had promised to teach me how to use a sword on this campaign." I held my arm up to the light and grimaced as I turned it. "It will never be right now."

She laughed and then sobered when she saw my pained expression. "This meant a great deal to you? Why?"

My heart swelled in my chest as I grinned. "I was raised in a military household. My master spoke always of the glory of war and the nobility of sacrifice. I should love to fight for my people and to be their champion."

I didn't understand the odd look she gave me then… I do now of course. I'd asked to be the champion of our people. Until that moment, I don't think she had considered me anything more than just another pre-immortal to guide into adulthood as she had done others.

"Do you truly understand what it means to be a champion?" she finally said after some moments.

"It means to be the best!" I replied in my youthful enthusiasm. "It means to be so good and so feared… that you carry the hopes and dreams of your people with you into each battle." Those were platitudes I'd learned from Archelous… but I think they were true ones for she nodded.

"Yes… but to be the best also means you must endure many challenges. Many would come to test themselves against your reputation. How would you handle that?"

I recall shrugging. "Kill them all," I replied matter-of-factly. I was too young to know better.

Danaë snorted. "Somehow… when it comes to it… I doubt that. But let me think on your request. For now… help the priests with the offerings and the novices with tending to the pilgrims. Use your arm as much as you can without causing you pain." She smiled warmly and I smiled back. I think I was quite in love with her at that moment. She had said I was no longer a slave, and I had no real desire to become a priest, but at that moment… I would have been satisfied to live the remainder of my life in that temple.

Days passed… and I fell into the routine of the temple. I might have remained there and lived and died but for her. During those days, I did not speak with her, nor did she call me to her side. She seemed focused on the pilgrims who came. Night and day… at low tide… she was in the cove… looking to all as if she stood on the water itself, ready to answer their questions.

A day came when there were no pilgrims. I rose, surprised that no one was on the twisted path climbing the mountain. One of the priests pointed at the storm clouds on the horizon. "Poseidon is angry this day. He raises the waves to fight the wind."

A typhoon was brewing in the distance. I could see lightning wrack the dark sky above the crashing waves. Here, on the island, it was still a gray day… and the winds, while rising, were not yet of deadly force. Archelous had spoken to me of the great storms of Poseidon that sometimes erupted in the Aegean… and of the deadly waves and whirlpools that sometimes appeared that could suck even the stoutest ship into the depths of the ocean as payment of tithe to the appetites of the gods. I worried that the great wave of the gods would come to the island… and roar over us all in a blinding wall of terror.

But the priest laughed at my concern. "We are the oracle of the god. He will not send his destruction this way."

By mid-morning, it seemed the old priest was right. The storm was further out to sea and appeared to be heading in another direction. Below in the village, I could see the people, like small insects, beginning to scurry about their lives once more.

"An interesting perspective," Danaë said from beside me. She rested one hand lightly on my shoulder. "Such small beings. Are they worthy of protection?"

"Yes," I answered.

She smiled and motioned me to follow her. Once we'd arrived at the open portico near where the pilgrims left their gifts, she turned and smiled as she tossed me a polished wooden staff. I caught it awkwardly and looked at her curiously.

"You wish to learn… yes?"

I nodded and I think I grinned in anticipation.

"And so it begins… my champion." She smiled that moment with such warmth… that I was determined to do all that might be necessary, endure any pain, fight on through whatever adversity, just for that smile. She held out a worn staff that I had seen her use to walk with up and down the stairs sometimes… and postured beside me, urging me to take the same stance. She encouraged me… moving a foot… or my arms until I was as she wished. Then she slowly showed me a move several times… then did it with me… then watched as I did it. Then encouraged me to do it faster… and faster.

By the time the stars had unveiled themselves in the robe of Niobe… I was weary… and yet energized. My broken arm was still of no practical use… but the moves she'd had me practice had forced me to use it some… and in the moves… I'd had only minor pain.

"There is hope for you my champion," she said as she glided away. I slept deeply that night for the first time since I'd come here.

That day was a pattern for others. During lulls in the activities, I would meet her at the _portico_ and learn whatever she wished to teach me. Soon we'd progressed from my just following her moves in some sort of dance… to my defending myself against her. She seemed ecstatic when I foresaw some move she planned and prepared a counter-attack. More and more elaborate our bouts became as the days passed until the day I improvised a series of attacks against her… and she fell on the ground. I stood confidently over her and pointed the staff at her neck.

Time stopped in that moment… and became a memory frozen in time. Sweat beaded on my forehead and a fine sheen seemed to cover her face as she sobered and regarded me.

"Would you take my head and inherit all that I am? Or would you be my champion?" Her voice was low pitched… and yet the words echoed in my soul.

I removed the staff from her neck and reached down to grasp her hand and pull her to her feet. "I am yours my Lady, for all time."

She laughed and said I'd best remember it.

The following day… she gave me my first sword and my training began in earnest. During my free time… even when she was busy with her duties… I practiced until my sword became an extension of who I was… a part of me. I learned by that time to use either hand… to feint and use anything about me as an aid to help me win. In my mind I fought glorious battles… and was lifted high on the shoulders of men.

The day came at last, though, when she said I had learned all that she could teach me. She smiled sadly at me and presented me with a commission she had managed to obtain for me in the forces of Thebes. I was to be attached to the citadel there and learn the art of war from men who made their living from it.

"They will teach you the philosophy of war and how to wage it… something I am not able to teach you… for I have never fought in war. My teachings were ones I learned in my life in an attempt to protect myself from men who would have attacked me and done me harm."

I was properly solemn, I recall, and bowed humbly as I accepted humbly the commission. I was to leave the following day and carry it to the captain of the citadel in Thebes… there to take my place in their ranks. "My thanks my lady," I told her.

"You may come to the day you will curse me for sending you to them," she laughed. But I never did. I never did.

At mid-morning of the following day, I was at the stone wharf in the village, and ready to board the ship for my new home. It would leave with the rising of the tide. My lady came to me there and presented me also with raiment suitable for a soldier, and a bag of coins with which I might purchase armor, food, and proper lodgings… for a soldier was not paid… he was supposed to be able to fund his own needs. Her gift meant I would not be lost within the ranks of those who were impressed to serve. I would learn to command and lead men… I would be a captain of Thebes.

I wanted to embrace her. But at fourteen summers, was too near the age of a man to embrace any woman not my mother except in a way I did not feel for her. Sometimes I wish I had broken my resolve and embraced her, for it was the last time ever I saw her. Instead, I thanked her humbly and shouldered my bag with my things and my gifts… and walked stiffly and proudly up the plank to the galley ship. I found a place near the forward rail and waved at her as the ship began to move.

Long she stood on the wharf as the boat set sail and, catching an offshore wind, quickly moved into open water and the island of Niebos fell far behind us. I watched her until I blinked and could not find the tiny speck that was her again.

After that, I faced the ocean, and eagerly awaited my new life.


	5. Interlude 1

**Interlude One**

**Niebos, December 2010:**

Phillip's voice drifted away and Stefan Portocullis took the opportunity to exchange disks in the recorder. Taking out a marker… he wrote a "1" on the first disk and slipped it into a disc-sleeve before settling back once more. "Do you need a break sir?"

"A break? No… I was just thinking about things I'd never considered before."

"What things would those be?" Portocullis started the recorder once more.

"Things? I suppose how in those early days, Danaë gave me ample chance to choose another path. But once I'd indicated that it was indeed my choice to be a warrior… she gave me greater gifts than fine raiment and money… she gave me a sense of myself and confidence in who and what I was. Had I gone without her teachings and gifts… I would have been an anonymous soldier in the army and while I would have received basic training… I rather doubt I would have lived much past my sixteenth summer. And as we well know… immortals of that age seldom last long in the game… some don't last at all."

"Is that why you've a soft spot for the young ones you make room for here?"

Phillip met the old man's gaze and then chuckled. "Soft spot? Perhaps. But I do know this. If a child immortal… any child immortal… betrays me or makes an attempt to take my head or the head or those I watch over… that child dies. They're not really children, you know. They are just trapped in childlike bodies.

"You're thinking of Kenny."

Phillip drew in a deep breath as he considered his words. "Kenny is no threat to anyone right now. But should he awaken… and should he threaten anyone… his eight hundred years on this earth will end."

"What about the girl that holds Nestor's dark quickening?"

Phillip's dark eyes flashed his anger. "She's a special case. She can't be killed… not by one of us."

"Then why not let a mortal kill her? The Watchers could easily do this."

"You people have interfered enough in the game. You have no business even suggesting such a thing!"

Portocullis held up his hands in surrender. "My apologies, Swordmaster. I was merely offering a solution."

Phillip leaned forward and his words dripped with anger; "She is not your concern. We immortals will face what she has become and what will eventually happen to her when the time is right."

"Where is she exactly? You said earlier she was at the cove, but not where?"

"None of your business." Phillip sat back in his chair, glaring at the old Watcher.

Portocullis bowed his head. He reached for the recorder. "We can continue this another time."

"No… my past is one thing… the future is something else." Phillip gestured for the old man to ask his questions.

"So your time in the Theban army?"

Phillip shrugged. "Passed like most time. I was well trained before I came. The funds I had allowed me to purchase a commission. I became an officer and led men into battle when asked. I taught my men much… but not all… of what I'd learned. Soon I was training soldiers throughout the army. It was then that I was first called 'Swordmaster.'"

"You were fourteen when you came there?"

Phillip nodded. "And sixteen when I began to train others. I was seventeen the first time I faced an enemy in battle. At the time… I still thought war a glorious escapade. As a surviving hero of the first war, I was granted many favors and took my first lovers."

"Male?"

Phillip shrugged. "Some. Others were female. It was over the years that followed that I began to gravitate more to males."

"And the years passed."

Phillip nodded thoughtfully. "And the years passed."

"And your first death… tell us of that and how you learned about immortality… and the game."

Phillip leaned back, tugging his beard slightly and twirling hairs about his forefinger. "My first death. Ahh… now that is a story in itself."


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_Thebes, circa 475 B.C.E.:_

I'd become after twenty-five years of fighting and inter-city war, one of the senior members of the army. I was content with my life… a junior officer… a captain of men… not a general… not a planner of campaigns. My abilities and influence did not reach so high. During the downtimes, I spent time with my companion of the moment, I attended banquets given by the wealthy, who wished to be thought influential… and I trained men.

Ahh… the banquets of that time! They began at sundown and lasted throughout the night. Low tables positively groaning in the abundance of food. Bards strummed their lyres and told great tales of the mighty heroes of days gone by. Men spoke of philosophy and debated morality and law. The wine flowed… and sex was abundant. A blind eye was turned to those who wished to couple in the dining hall itself. I tell you… the fabled orgies of Rome in later centuries had nothing on the parties of Thebes.

During one of the banquets I attended, I was approached by a woman, the wife of a general as it turned out. She offered herself to me. As I was currently with someone… I declined. She did not take it well. She spoke lies in my general's ears of how I'd attempted to ravish her against her will.

My general chose to believe his wife. She could be very persuasive. I was sent on expeditions that had slim chance of success. Yet I succeeded… and brought back treasure, slaves, tribute, heads; in short, whatever was needed. My renown as a warrior grew.

Laurels were placed on my head. Parades and games were held in my honor. More banquets were thrown. In short… my fame grew… as did her hate… and her lies. Nightly she spoke her poison into my general's ears until he glared at me with open animosity. And I… I did not know what I had done to anger him… and worked harder to bring him tribute and glory.

After a particularly successful campaign, I was feted at my general's home. His wife brought me a cup of wine before all who were gathered, and knelt before me… begging my pardon for her misdeeds. She bared her breasts before me… indicating that my general had given her to me as a gift for the evening. I would dishonor him if I refused. I was full of myself and took the cup from her hand to drain it, signifying my acceptance of the gift. She smirked as I drank… and I knew it was my death in her hand. I recalled Danaë's prophecy to me… that I would never die in battle… that no man would ever defeat me in single combat. Her words were prophetic. I died by treachery and a woman's hand.

When I awoke, I thought only that somehow I had survived the poison. I lay wrapped in fine linen on a bier in the temple, awaiting the lighting of the funeral fire come dusk. I was to have had a hero's funeral. My ashes were to have risen to the stars. Priests would have whispered my name along with the heroes of legend… Herakles… Jason… Achilles… Odysseus. I had but one thought when I awoke… I would destroy those who had thought to kill me.

Stealthily I attacked guards and stole weapons and armor. I donned it… covering my face and made my way into my general's home. I knew his wife would not have given me poison without his approval. I burst in on her and one of her young men in her bedchamber and dragged her off of him by her hair. I held my sword to her throat and bid her speak the truth. Why was I poisoned?

"Because your honor and name supersedes his. Because the people love you!" she whispered. To my everlasting shame, I believed her. "He sent me to you in secret, hoping to break in on us and act the injured husband. But when you would not have me… he sent you to your death. Yet you survived. Again and again he sent you out… but your fame grew. Finally he ordered me to publicly offer myself to you. If you took me as your right… by drinking the wine… you would die. He would be rid of you."

I cast her aside as something to be pitied and raced to my general's quarters. I did not listen to his cries of delight that I lived… I bade him take up arms and fight to the death, telling him I was not so easy to kill. He was no match for me. I killed him swiftly. His blood stained my hands.

My general's wife had roused the house guard and stood smirking behind them yelling how I'd betrayed my city, my general, my honor, and had murdered my friend in his sleep. I fought like a man possessed and took many of them down with me. Not for naught were the tales of my exploits in battle… nor my skill with the sword. In the end, it was by an arrow through my heart that I perished a second time. Again the hand that wielded the bow was that of my betrayer… my general's wife.

I woke next in a pit of bones and bodies, a place where traitors and criminals were thrown to be carrion for the predators. I had been stripped of armor and clothing and lay broken upon a rock. I roared my defiance… and swore vengeance to the gods. I called on Poseidon himself to aid me in my quest for vengeance.

I sped through the night… killing all who would stop me. I gave no thought to who they were. I became the monster in the darkness. I became that which I despised. I found her whom I sought and this time I did not listen to her cries. I dragged her to the pit where she'd had my body cast… and I killed her… and cast her naked form onto the bones below… and watched throughout the day with great satisfaction as ravens and jackals fed on her.

At some point in the night that followed, I came to realize that I no longer had a place in Thebes… and that if I were to understand what had happened to me… I would have to return home… to Niebos. Surely, I thought, My Lady would explain it all to me.

Over the years I'd often heard of the wonders of the oracle of Niebos. I'd kept its secrets and listened to others wax poetic about the oracle and the truth of her words. I would return there… climb the mountain along the pilgrim's path… and humbly ask my question.

My mind made up, I gathered the jewels I'd ripped from my murderer's body… sold them, and bought passage for Niebos.

Of that journey and the trials that occurred on it… I will not speak of here. Suffice it to say… I was tested time and again by sword… and I survived… not knowing why it was that men came at me for no reason… nor why I felt the power of the gods in my veins like living fire when these men were near. I did not know them as fellow immortals… I did not fully recognize that I had died and been reborn. In that time I saw it only as a gift from the gods that protected me until I could return to Niebos and ask the oracle my question. Understand… I had not yet taken a head… nor received a quickening… I had killed these men and moved on. Some of them… found me again… but that was later… after Niebos… and after I had learned what I was.

I landed at the docks… bought tribute with the last of my coins and climbed the steep path. The lines were long that day… the sun beat down on my head as if to blister it. I saw an old woman behind me in the line and shared my water with her. I saw a crippled boy… and carried him in my arms for a distance. I saw an old grandfather… and leant him my arm when his crutch broke. The lessons of humility and service that I had learned in my boyhood came back to me on that trek. By the time I reached the summit and saw the colonnades and porticos where once humble huts had stood… I was eager to make my presence known.

I wandered the summit of the mountain for hours, strolling through the temple complex… far more elaborate than what I remembered. It did not seem possible that it could have changed so much. Each time I passed a novice or priest, I scanned their faces seeking someone familiar. But I saw no faces of those I had once known. Finally… I joined those descending along the narrow crooked steps. I helped two young men handing down an aged parent bound to a stretcher. The old man had insisted that despite the beach path set aside for those unable to make the climb… that he would take his turn with the others.

From the heights I could see the oracle in the tide… and my heart leapt with joy. I felt that I had come home at last. Closer and closer I came until at last I stepped forward on the sandy beach… it was my time at last. I raised my arms and called to her. "What would you ask of me?"

She twisted in the sea-spray and replied. "Only what you ask of yourself."

I sank to my knees in the edge of the water and sobbed… casting my cloak over my head. Her answer did not satisfy me. I had thought long and hard on my question during the journey… and thought that I had phrased it well. But her answer left me empty. I knew nothing more than when I had started out.

Moments later I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see the face of Thalassa, she who'd first tended me when I was boy. "Nikos? Is that you?"

I cast my arms about her legs and sobbed… so happy was I to see someone whom I knew… and who knew me. It did not sink in until later… that Thalassa was now the oracle.

-----

Thalassa led me back to the summit and made me comfortable in one the rooms set aside for pilgrims who remained for a time in thanksgiving as penitents serving others. I slept as one dead, listening to the sounds of the ocean and the songs of the priests and novices. When I awoke, I smelled baking bread and the hot stews cooked in the great pots to ease the hunger of the pilgrims. I felt as if I'd at last come home.

Rising, I girded myself and strode about the complex attempting to see again the familiar in the new. I found Thalassa with several young women gathered about her as if in lessons. She looked up at me and smiled, dismissing the young women to other duties and motioned me to sit beside her. A novice brought food for both of us and while I ate, she told me of the passing of years.

"In the years after you left us… much tribute came as the wealthy of many cities came to the oracle and were pleased with her words. With their tribute… we built the complex you see now. Danaë warned us to be frugal in our building… that the tribute was meant to ease the pilgrims' way. So we built sturdy and strong… and did not adorn with useless carving… although some in their thankfulness came and carved, letting that be their gift to all. While we had stout rooms with which to shelter us from wind and elements… we did not have luxurious ones."

"And my lady? What became of her?"

Thalassa stared at me curiously. She slipped a hand within her gown and drew out a cameo. I have it still. See how the carver used the striations of the stone to give her a slight blush across her cheek. I've been told it is a work of art. And while a good likeness of my lady, it does not begin to show the depth of her smile. She seems rather solemn in this, as if deep in thought or remembrance.

Thalassa handed it to me that day. "Danaë said you would return. She told me to give you this. A penitent carved it for her in recent years. As you can see… in all the years that she was here… she did not age. There were those who thought she truly was akin to the gods. Danaë laughed at that. She told them that the gods were the powerful scions of the elements… and that she was only their servant."

I took the cameo in my hands, reverently caressing it with my fingers as I have done often over the centuries. "She is gone then?" I looked up to meet Thalassa's gaze. I think I was crying.

"During the last harvest, she took me down to the cove one night when there were no others about. For some reason there were no pilgrims. She showed me the secrets of the cove and how it was she appeared to stand on the waves and walk on the water. For years she had schooled me in seeing the pattern of the truth of the gods in all I saw. That night she showed me how moonlight and sunlight could reveal the truth in the spray. She bid me give this to you when you came, then she turned and headed out to sea… slowly sinking into the depths from which it was said she had once come."

"She knew," I whispered. She'd known that I had died… and been reborn. She'd known I'd entered the game… that I would come to her for the answers that she could not give me. She'd left. From what Methos and Eleanor have told me of the memories she shared with them… that were released in their union… I know that only a handful of immortals ever met her. She had passed beyond the game… and in caring for and placing the small ones in safety… had at last found some measure of peace for the crimes of her youth. She found pre-immortal children and as she did first with Methos and finally with Eleanor… the first and the last of her charges… she placed them on the path of the future. She settled them in homes and with parents who would cherish them and give them what she could not… a normal life.

But at the time, I only knew that she who might have answered my questions, had deserted me. I remained for some time on the island… seeking peace… but finding none. I needed to find answers. I thought perhaps that Danaë might be elsewhere, so I was determined to find her. In the end I took my leave of Niebos and would not see it again nor walk the path to the summit for well over three hundred years. By that time… I had entered the game.


	7. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_**Asia Minor, circa 470 B.C.E.:**_

Upon leaving Niebos, I fell into despair… still not knowing exactly what I was… and why the gods had gifted me with this ability to return from death. By then I'd noted that my cuts and wounds from battles swiftly healed, and I surmised it was the same with death. Whereas before I thought that I had somehow escaped death, I had come to realize that while my body died… it healed in death and that my soul was chained to it. I recalled that Danaë had asked me to be her champion… and decided I was meant to be one of the undying warriors who served the gods. It was then that I met… or rather was found by Nestor.

As I have mentioned, men challenged me in battle… men whose very presence made me feel the fire of the gods in my veins. I beat them… I killed them… and still they came these men from many lands. I had just finished with one… plunging my blade deep into his chest and feeling the life leave him… when another who assaulted my senses approached in a chariot. His charioteer drew the reins as they approached and he leaned over the side, evidently amused by the dead man at my feet.

"Well…" he said in greeting. "Aren't you going to finish him off?"

"He is dead great lord," I said with a bow, assuming that the head of a city or great household had deigned to stop. I was beholden to none at that time and thought perhaps, despite the fact that I felt ill in this man's presence as I had with others… I might be of service to him.

"He was a mighty warrior… one of my best. If you have bested him, then you must be gifted with the blade."

"He attacked me for no reason, Great Lord," I said falling to my knees. I feared that I had angered him and wished to show that I did not hold him as an enemy.

He threw back his head in laughter. "Can it be that you do not know what you are?"

His laughter angered me… I wanted him to know that I was no youth to be trifled with and grabbed for my short sword. I challenged him. Stepping down from the chariot, he appeared thoughtful. "Has no one told you? Are you one who has not learned the great truth… that there are those of us so favored by the gods that we neither age nor easily die as other men?"

I was intrigued. He seemed to have the very answers for which I had long sought. He regarded me curiously and while he did not draw his own sword… I had no doubt that he could defend himself if the need arose. The man at our feet grunted and gasped for air. I stepped back from him aghast as he rolled over and cursed the gods. Feeling us… he flailed for his weapon only to find Nestor's foot upon it.

"I do not brook failure," he said darkly.

"Forgive me Nestor. I found this one alone and thought him an easy target to feed my power. I did not think him worthy. He is one who has not tasted the fire from heaven."

Nestor grinned with amusement. "No? Perhaps he should." He beckoned me forward.

I was still confused and frightened by what was happening. Never had I seen a dead man return to life… my own experience notwithstanding.

"You defeated him. But he will come for you again and again until you take his head," Nestor said. "Take it!" His voice sounded like thunder. For a moment it was as if Danaë herself spoke to me… for I had heard the thunder in her words as oracle often enough.

I positioned my blade in both hands and held it above me. I met Nestor's gaze and when he nodded… I dropped the blade with a hefty stroke across my opponent's neck. For a moment all seemed normal. The head fell away… the body slumped to one side. Then a blue-white mist, crackling with power eased from his open throat and rose in a whirlwind. As it reached its pinnacle, it dove into my chest and pierced me to my soul. It was as if for a moment I was borne aloft by the will of the gods. Again and again I was tossed like a child's cloth doll to and from in the grip of this strange power. Within me I felt the fire from heaven flow through me until it seemed I shone with the power and that all who would see me would know that I was blessed.

After the power eased, I found myself on my knees… leaning on my hands. Nestor stepped forward and lay his blade beneath my chin.

"I could take you now while you are weak. Instead I give you back your life. Serve me faithfully as Orachon did. Take his place at my side."

Desirous of life… and the need to know more about what had just happened, I agreed. In the back of my mind, I wondered if when I had served my purpose I would be a sacrifice as this Orachon had been. However, I did not let it bother me too much. Nestor had the answers and I would serve him, follow him, and do his bidding for those answers.

He was still beautiful to behold then. Golden hair, golden beard, cut then in the Persian style… Nestor was as he had been in legend… the Greek general and wise counselor who had advised Agamemnon before the gates of Troy. I came to learn that he had been most recently with Xerxes of Persia and had trained the phalanx of warriors called "the immortals" whom the Spartans had held briefly at Thermopylae. I should have been wary of him. How could he have turned against Greece? But his words were like honey in my ears and there was much about him that reminded me of Danaë.

"We are not Greek. We are not Persian. We are immortal young one. Within us is the gift of the gods to rise above men and nations. We are destined to rule the world."

He seemed to have all the answers I would ever want. He took me under his wing and his protection… seeing my skill with the blade… and bade me train mortals as I had once done. He wished us to ride at the head of our own army and conquer the world. It seemed reasonable. In those days, all that Nestor said seemed reasonable. I do not think the darkness had quite consumed him then… I think that perhaps something of the Greek general, who was both wise and honored in history, still remained.

At any rate… I gave him my sword and my hand and he agreed to teach me what we were… and what our destiny was.

"And your man?" I dared to ask of him when he bid me join him in his chariot for the journey to the East.

He clapped me on the shoulder as if to reassure me. "That one was sent to obtain information. He stepped aside from his task and lost his head. I wish only the best about me. If you… a newborn immortal had bested him… then he was no longer my concern. Rest easy young one… you shall serve me well."

It seemed I had found a mentor. If I'd only listened then to the warning in my veins that said spoke of a cold darkness and treachery. He felt different, you see. At the time, I thought it because he was old and wise. The Nestor of history whose legend had come down to us from Troy was a hero. He was said to have been the oldest and wisest of all those who counseled Agamemnon during the ten years of that strife. He may well have been immortal before that conflict. He never told me. Of that you Watchers may know more than I. At any rate… by the end of the siege, he had become a pillager of the citadel, a raper of women, and a murderer of innocents. It is my belief that the dark quickening may well have taken him sometime during the war… if not before.

History is written by those who win battles; so his name in legend remained unstained. But there were even in my time, whispers that Nestor's wisdom came not from his great age… but from a deal with demons to the east… or from some contract with the gods. His great age and skill in battle likewise was a thing of dark magic. Some said he had sailed with Jason and had lain with Medea… learning the dark magics from her. But those were whispers only. I know not the truth of them.

At the time that I met him, he was not yet lost to the darkness, although it had a hold on him. There were moments when it shown through like a dark aura about him. I'd had a glimpse of it when he stood on Orachon's sword and condemned him to final death at my hands. But I was young then… and did not know into what horrors he would lead me.

I climbed aboard his chariot and laughed to feel the wind in my hair as his driver headed to the east and the rising of the sun. Greece was in the west… and the world lay before me. I reveled in the strength I felt from that first quickening, finally seeing the world about me with new eyes. If immortality were my gift, then I would use it well. I would learn from this man and serve him. In my youth and naïveté I thought myself blessed to have found him and garnered his attention. Oh that I could return to that long ago day… and make a different choice. Alas… that is not a gift we immortals have. And those of us with long memories see all the crossroads of our lives and the implications of our choices. We remember those days and feel the regret of the centuries hang about us like a plague of locusts.

I traveled a dark road with Nestor as my guide for many years.


	8. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_**Asia Minor, circa 470-421 B.C.E.:**_

Nestor's camp, when I first saw it, was small but well appointed. My soldier's eye took it in quickly as we approached. The cooking fires were near the water, and bathing and sanitation had been set further downstream… so that the cooks had access to clean water.

"I wish only the best for my men," Nestor said smoothly. At the time, I thought it was the truth. He allowed camp followers and families to accompany the men so that they had those they most cared about with them if they wished. Nestor provided for all his retainers. All he asked was that his word was law and that he was to be instantly obeyed.

"Teach them to fight as you fought," he said indicating a training ground for new recruits. "Make them think that if they fight as we fight… they too might reawaken immortal."

"Is it the truth?" I asked.

He laughed. "I feel nothing about them at this time. But I could be wrong. Immortality is a blessing of the gods upon those of us with abilities they treasure. We are their inheritors. Train them well young Greek… perhaps the gods will smile on them as they did on you."

I was eager to please… and eager to know more about the fire from heaven as I first came to know the quickening. It was a glorious thing… and I thought it a wonder that I wished to know again. Nestor laughed. "A wonder young Greek? Aye… tis the life force of the blessed. When the power is great enough… when only a few of us remain… we will fight then to possess it all."

"We would fight?" I asked him.

He smiled as he turned away but I caught the secretive and lustful nature of that smile. Having just felt the power for the first time… and not knowing how often he had felt it… I thought he merely understood my eagerness to join the game more fully. Perhaps he had thought even then that he might have at last found one worthy to host his abilities… one who could successfully challenge all others.

I threw myself into the training of the men. But as Danaë had told me… teach no one all of what you know… I kept many things to myself. But I came to care for these men. I molded them into a fighting unit that could utterly destroy the defenses arrayed against them. They fought without fear of death… and that gave them freedom in battle to be daring.

I fought beside them and urged them on. When we won… we relished the rewards of battle. The smell of blood lay on us… and we knew no greater pleasure than to force our selves and our will on the conquered. It was the way of it then… it had been the same when I was a soldier of Thebes… but there was an unfettered feel to the looting and pillaging under Nestor. Sometimes it seemed as if the war were an excuse for the aftermath rather than the aftermath being an outgrowth of the war.

Still I turned a blind eye to events and drank my wine and feasted after battles, and slaked my thirst on the slaves. I was content. And… I was a fool. I became complacent in that life… and felt akin to the gods. I watched Nestor play on that aspect about us when he urged his troops to battle for immortality. He seemed to enjoy the bloodshed more than winning.

My eyes were opened for the first time after the fall of some nameless walled city. The camp was abuzz with merriment after our victory and the beer stores of that town were greatly depleted. Filthy stuff… beer. I never developed a taste for it. Nestor sent for me.

I slipped into his silken tent where I smelled exotic spices burning on the braziers. It was a heady smell… one that had the touch of opiates in it. Nestor lay reclined on his divan… his silk garments loosely around him and his muscles were oiled and glowing in the flickering firelight. He offered his own wine cup to me. I'd once told him of my first death and that I was wary now of wine being offered without a taster. He tasted it himself and pressed the golden chalice into my hand with a laugh. I drank deeply… and noted that it was laced with something pleasing and relaxing. The dark centers of his blue eyes gazed at me with interest. Whatever it was… he'd taken it into his system as well. I found it intoxicating and called for more. The drug lowered my inhibitions… such as they were at that time. He motioned toward four slaves… stripped and bound who awaited my pleasure.

"These are mine. I'm finished with them. You may choose one for your pleasure… but you must satisfy yourself before me."

It seemed a little thing to do so. I examined the slaves. They were properly drugged and gazed with dark eyes dully at me. I noted the signs of rape on each of them… the smears of blood that the oil on their bodies had not quite erased… the bruising around mouths and genitals… the despondency of them. Their hands were bound behind them but with my sword I could lift their faces up to observe them.

Two were male… two were female. Each was young and well formed. The females had not yet borne children and the males had not yet developed a full beard. "Only one?" I asked with laughter. I wanted them all.

"Only one my apprentice. You may have one for your pleasure. I will kill the others."

At that I hesitated. "Why kill them? Surely there is still much worth in them."

"I have finished with them. I do not allow those I've finished with to be passed on to just anyone. Because you have served me well… I grant you the gift of having one of them here in my sight. The others… I'm through with. No man may have them." He waved his wine steward forward to refill my chalice. I downed the filled cup and tossed it aside. Again whatever was in the drink inflamed me as it had him. I licked my lips as I examined the slaves. Which should I take and save?

Uncertain if this were a test of my loyalty… or my ability to judge flesh… I finally made my choice… the younger of the two males. Gently I positioned him before me and began to take him as I would a cherished lover. Nestor clapped in glee as he rose and drew his sword. One by one he killed the others in swift strokes… watching heads roll as I was involved with the one I'd selected… watching as I became ever more excited by the carnage about me. Then… just as I was reaching the moment of release… he killed that one as well… and I found it even more exciting. When finished… I rolled onto my back and the enormity of what I'd done came to me.

Nestor teased his blade over my neck as I lay there. "Again… you are unarmed and I could take you now," he hissed sibilantly. "Could you stop me?"

"No," I whispered, certain that death had found me.

He laughed and tossed it into a tent pole where it wavered embedded in the wood. He crouched over me, his eyes glistening. "Do you love me? Am I not beautiful to behold?"

"You are beautiful," I agreed. "But there is a darkness in you that makes me ill." His hands cooled my fevered brow. His lips touched mine and sucked at my breath eagerly. His breath felt cold and smelled of a charnel house. I did not know that he had begun eating his victims raw. I did not know that until later. I rolled over retching the wine, the drug, everything. I rose and ran from his tent. But I did not leave him… not then… not that night. To my shame… I remained, hoping the darkness would wane… and that he would be once more the glorious warrior and champion of old.

But as the years passed, I watched his excesses grow. Men were not just killed… they were tortured and for no reason other than it seemed to bring him pleasure. Women were not just raped… they were degraded and frequently before their men. Children became playthings and heads became toys that were tossed about like balls.

At some point, I began to see that all of us were sinking into an abyss that smelled more of the charnel pit than of a future. I left him and his dreams of glory and conquest… at long last sickened by it. And sickened that I had participated in it willingly.

His exploits continued to cut a swath of pillage across the face of the globe for the next five hundred years. In 79 C.E. he finally went too far and dared the gods themselves when he tried to take the head of another immortal on Holy Ground. I wasn't there… but I'm told that the earth rose up and swallowed him. But he didn't die. When he finally escaped, Nero ruled Rome and, broken and ugly to behold… Nestor became his counselor. His words were still honey. Rome burned. By then… I think the darkness had him utterly. He had lost sight of the game, and sought only perversion and pleasure.

Dark quickenings are rare, thank goodness. His is the only one I ever saw. I do not know their source… but have often wondered if they were not some remnant from our early days when the game began. MacLeod, who overcame the one that took him, says I am reaching for answers where there are none. For him, the darkness was a loss of self. He felt he had taken in the quickenings of so many evil immortals… that who he was had become lost in the process.

As I say… I have no answers. The Nestor we faced and banished in the second century felt like darkness and the devil himself by that time. He warned us that we couldn't kill him… and yet we tried, selecting the youngest and most innocent among us to hold him. But the darkness consumed him in moments. Those of us who were there that day found in later centuries that our actions had forged chains of alliance between us that were not easily undone. Whether it was collective guilt or collective fear that Nestor would one day trouble the world again… we who remained noted one another in passing over the years… but did not challenge the other. Methos… whom I knew then as Antoninus, Xanthia of whom I will speak later, Darius, the giant Ursa, Tak Ne, the man you know as Ramirez, Marcus Constantine, Tjanifer of Troy later known as Graham Ashe. Facing and binding Nestor… changed all of us. His descent into darkness warned all of us that it was possible. It was then that each of us… independently as well as with others… began discussing ways to alter the game as we had come to know it. Somehow… we knew that the forces of darkness had to be stopped… and the game ended. To that end… we began seeking alternate ways of survival.

Ramirez found and trained young immortals to be champions. And his students trained others. Darius retreated to holy ground, Methos became a ghost, Marcus turned to history, the beautiful Xanthia… seemed ever more ethereal and not of this world. Ursa… Nestor's tortures robbed him of his mind… but not his love of beauty. Each of us turned from that time and sought to forget what we'd done… and find a way to prevent the future he saw and had warned us of.


	9. Interlude 2

**Interlude Two**

**Niebos, December 2010:**

Silence filled the dusky, dark library. Almost as if he hated to disturb the silent and thoughtful immortal, the old Watcher leaned forward and clicked off the recorder, removing the disk as he'd done so earlier, and labeling it with a massive 2 written in his neat and precise scholar's penmanship. Resolutely he inserted the next disk and leaned back in his chair.

"Are you thirsty?" Phillip asked him suddenly.

"I'm fine," Portocullis replied and cleared his throat. He could see that the swordmaster's eyes were red-rimmed as though he was fighting back tears. "You needn't be concerned about me."

Phillip gave him a thin smile… yet there was no warmth in it… only weariness.

"Perhaps we can finish another time," the old gentleman offered diffidently. "We can finish tomorrow… or the next day."

Phillip sighed deeply. He stared at the gathering darkness of the night thoughtfully and then shook his head. "No… I don't want to leave it there. If I do… my demons will haunt me all night." Rising, he poured a clear, golden wine from a decanter into a wineglass and downed it quickly before pouring a second. He looked at the old Watcher and gestured with the decanter. "You're certain?" he asked.

Portocullis gestured no.

Phillip returned to his seat and crossed his legs in a posture that seemed to suggest an ease that he no longer felt. "So what do you want to know now?"

"Something we Watchers have long wanted to know. Something that must be near and dear to your heart."

Phillip chuckled. "What would that be? My enthusiasm for wine? My first glimpse of Eleanor? My first meeting with Methos?"

Portocullis shook his head. His lips turned up in a secretive smile; his dark eyes glittered merrily. "No… none of those."

Phillip arched an eyebrow but waited silently.

"You always identify yourself as the swordmaster of Alexander the Great."

Phillip nodded.

"Obviously," the old man continued gesturing slightly toward the recorder, "we would like to know about that period of your life."

Phillip threw back his head and laughed, dispelling his dark mood of the past hour. "You want to know about that boy-king. You want to know what part I had in his training? His rise to power? His conquests? His death?"

"Yes," Portocullis breathed eagerly, unable to disguise behind the facade of dispassionate historian, his desire for this.

Phillip sipped the wine again, then set it on the table. The room was nearly dark now. He reached over and turned on a dim lamp to dispel the darkness, and then sat back comfortably. "Ah… Alexander," he said with a warm smile laden with memory. "My finest hour..."

Portocullis began to record once more.


	10. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_Athens, 405 B.C.E.:_

Had I not visited Athens some years after leaving Nestor's influence, I might never have traveled to Macedon… I might never have met the golden-haired Alexander.

Athens, once the crown jewel of all the Mycenaean city-states… had fallen on hard times. She'd engaged in wars which were less than profitable and squandered her resources; her greatest statesman Pericles, had recently died of the plague; and a committee of oligarchs had been running the affairs of state. Not far away, militant Sparta sharpened her weapons and made ready for the final assault, which would make them the masters of this once-proud city.

I thought that perhaps they could use my expertise. But first, I wanted to see the city… and the Acropolis, built during Pericles' recent reign.

I spent the day traversing the streets and climbed the hill to walk amongst the pillars of the temple and to gaze outward at the ocean. My thoughts inevitably turned to Niebos. I'd considered visiting the island again after my sojourn with Nestor… now knowing what I was, but so many years had passed in the interim that I realized that all I knew there would be dead now. I would just be one more pilgrim on the road, seeking an answer to a question. I stared up at the great statue of Athena… goddess of wisdom… and wondered if I would ever know the answers to my questions, or find my Lady Danaë who was, I was now certain, one like me… an immortal.

But the statue was silent… as most statues inevitably were. While I still believed in the power of the gods… I no longer looked for them in the creations of men. Despondent, I left the temple and sauntered down the hill into the city once more.

In the _agora_… or marketplace, I listened to the vendors selling their wares and to the philosophers with their small groups of students… learned men spouting platitudes for the most part. I was at the edge of one such group when a young man saw my smirk.

"He really is full of himself, isn't he?" he said with a conspiratorial wink.

"I've heard much the same for years," I replied.

His name was Lysander, and he was a comely youth. We spoke for some time as we wandered about the _agora_. Towards evening, he mentioned he was going to a _symposium_ at the home of Aspasia, a courtesan of great beauty who had been the companion of Pericles before his death. Interested, I agreed to attend with him.

Now a _symposium_ then is not what it is today. It was a party for discussion, drinking, and sex. Attended mainly by men, it was both a serious affair… and an orgy combined in one. What Lysander was asking for in his invitation was a companion for the evening. As I was intrigued by both his dark eyes and his dark curly hair, as well as his slender body, I agreed to go. We seemed to have much in common in our outlook on life and the state of affairs of the day. I found it pleasant to be "just a man" and not an immortal for a time and looked forward to the evening.

That evening did not go as planned. And it changed my life.

At twilight we entered the spacious columned house of Aspasia where I was introduced to the other guests. Some were playwrights who planned on readings from their works in progress, while others were philosophers… or would be philosophers… who wanted to discuss their latest theories. A few styled themselves scientists and wanted to discuss the workings of the natural world and how it could be explained without the power of the gods. Around us were arrayed a number of _hetaerae_, ladies of the evening, and serving boys. Accomplished musicians and other entertainers moved about the low tables where we reclined. All were there for the instant pleasure and instant gratification of any of us.

An exceptionally good wine flowed freely… as did the conversation. The evening had wound on and both discussion and merriment were in full swing. It was then that I felt the presence of another immortal. I groaned inwardly and glanced up at the red-haired beauty who had just entered the room. Aspasia… courtesan… our hostess.

She surveyed the room with a thin smile… her blue eyes coming to rest on me. She knew me for what I was. I noted the calm that was about her. She seemed to be amused at the goings-on at the party. Something in the way she moved, gesturing for me to follow her, reminded me of Danaë. I was even more intrigued by her… than by the invitational caress of Lysander at my side.

Mumbling my excuses, I rose and followed her from the room. Behind me I heard taunts and jeers directed at me and at Lysander. But I had no more thought of him. He was merely the diversion of the evening. This immortal woman might well have knowledge I needed.

She slipped out into the walled garden and beneath the olive trees. I followed like a man under a spell. Even when she turned, drawing a shortsword to lay at my neck… I made no move.

"Who are you?" she finally asked. I could here the highborn tone of her voice. Courtesan she might be… but she had known royalty in her life. She was an independent woman of means with more rights and freedoms than those normally given women at that time.

"I am a soldier," I replied. "I came to Athens to add my sword to her armies and to hope stem the tide of Sparta's attacks."

She laughed and I heard in that laugh great age and wisdom. She laughed much as Danaë had laughed and my heart swelled in my breast at the sound of it. I kneeled before her.

"Command me Lady… for I am yours."

Shaking her head, she withdrew her sword and continued to laugh as she hid it once more beneath her mantle amongst the folds of her _chiton_. "What makes you think I have any need for a servant or companion such as yourself. We don't do well in groups… or haven't you learned that yet?"

My thoughts turned to my time with Nestor, and that I had come to that conclusion only after being with him for decades. I swallowed nervously and replied. "I have learned that this is true of some of us… but I once knew a great Lady such as yourself… and I was always safe with her."

She arched her brows in amusement. In the slight evening breeze, by the light of moon and torches, I could see the tendrils of her red hair feather about her face and long slender neck. I could see the white of her bare arms… and the slight heave of her bosom as she breathed. "You must have been very young," she finally said.

"A boy," I replied.

"But now you are a man… and an immortal. It's not usually safe to be on intimate terms with another immortal. It opens us up to betrayal and death."

She said this last with a clipped tone and a brittle edge that told me she had loved and lost someone who had betrayed her.

I rose to my feet and bowed. "I see much in you that reminds me of my Lady. Perhaps you've met her? Danaë… once the oracle of Niebos."

I shall never forget the look she gave me… one filled with sudden understanding and at the same time startled puzzlement. Finally she shook her head. "I have never met any with that name… though I heard of the oracle centuries ago."

I drug out my precious cameo. "Here is her likeness. Perhaps she used another name." But Aspasia declined to glance at it. She moved further away in the dim moonlight and rubbed her pale bare arms in the chill night air as she stared at the face of the moon. Whatever it was she knew, or thought she knew, she held her tongue and took that knowledge to her grave centuries later. But I have always believed that my Lady knew her… if not as the oracle… then as something else. Perhaps it was what decided Aspasia's next course of action.

"Tell me, soldier, will you always be defined as a soldier?"

"I am what I was in my first life," I replied. "Always there is a need for a man of my skills."

"And your presence in my home tonight? Why did you come?"

I shrugged and told of my interest in the young Lysander.

She laughed. "You came not to discuss art or literature or philosophy… but to drown yourself in wine and sex."

"Essentially… yes. What else is there that makes our long lives bearable?"

"Oh my young friend… you have so much to learn. Tell me… had I not reminded you of this Lady of our kind whom you seek… when I laid my sword on your neck… what would you have done? How would you have escaped?"

I folded my arms across my chest and regarded her thoughtfully. "You were off-balance… and your arm relaxed. You'd have had to draw it back to make the blow… and in that moment…" I grinned and shrugged.

"So… essentially you knew you were in no danger?"

I nodded.

She whipped her sword out once more, laying it against my neck as she'd done before. "Show me."

"Strike then," I replied.

She gazed at me thoughtfully… and then drew back to make the blow. In that moment I ducked, turned, grasped her arm from behind and twisted her sword up to her own neck. I held it there as she held her breath in my arms. "Well?" she finally said. "What next? Will you take my head in my own home?"

Around us in the dark, the scent of jasmine was heavy on the air. Her skin was as soft as that of a child's and I knew it had been long since she'd toiled at labor. She was the first immortal woman I'd ever known, save for Danaë and I admit the thought of having her almost overwhelmed me. I lowered the blade and bent to take in her scent… of fear and spices. I dropped her sword at our feet and kicked it out of reach as I lifted one of my rough hands to stroke her cheek and twist one of the red curls about my finger. My other hand slipped beneath her bodice and squeezed one breast gently. She moaned. For a moment I knew I could have simply taken her as I'd taken so many others in my life. I was bigger and stronger… but there would have been no joy in it. I released her with a slight shove and leaned over to pick up her sword, which I held out to her.

She took it huffily, as if to deny what might have been. "You are a barbarian," she snapped, "who knows nothing but the sword and having your own way."

"Then teach me another way to live," I challenged her.

She met my gaze and then turned again to stare off into the night… again it seemed as if she was recalling some other conversation. "Very well," she said with resignation. "But I will not have you lording it about my home or acting as you have this evening."

I smiled at her. "Command me Lady. You will find I am a good soldier."

She turned away. "I must think on this. In a week's time… the _symposium_ will return to my home. Come… and I will have an answer for you."

She nodded my dismissal. I bowed and left her in her garden and returned to the party. By this time… the lights and smells and sounds of the orgy… for orgy it now was… sickened me. Between the cavorting bodies and the smell of vomit… I had had enough of such things. I heard laughter and jeers as I gathered my mantle and left.

I had some money on me, left from my last job as soldier of Corinth, but not enough to sustain me for very long without working. I would need to find a position and a place to stay. Hearing footsteps behind me, I glanced back at Lysander's approach. He was hastily adjusting his mantle. "My friend," he called out. "You leave so early. The _symposium_ was not to your taste?"

Any other night it would have been. Sitting around drinking copious amounts of wine, dining on the finest cuisine, _hetaerae_ and boys to provide my every diversion… but being the only sober one at a party was uncomfortable. The party had continued during my absence with Aspasia… and I'd found on my return to it… that her words still hung in my ears… to be something else… to learn another way. I shrugged. "I find I'm weary from my journey and still need to make arrangements for the night."

Lysander laughed. "We usually stay all night at the host's house and then straggle to our homes at midday. We sleep a bit and then rise to begin again."

I laughed. "The life of the wealthy and dissolute."

He became serious then as he shook his head. "No. We discuss the future of Athens and the meanings of Homer. We dissect the workings of the universe and the nature of life. We are men of the highest class."

I sighed… seeing what Aspasia must surely see… foolish mortals who talk big and waste their lives, accomplishing nothing. I wondered why she hosted such things.

"I have a friend you should meet," Lysander said slinging an arm over my shoulder. "He's an artist… he works in bronze. He's been looking for the subject of a new statue."

I laughed. As an immortal, I did not want statues of me standing around to be gazed at in the future. "I'm only a warrior. I'm not the stuff of bronze."

"But you are," he assured me, and led me along the city streets. It was nearly dawn by the time we reached the tradesmen's quarter of the city. All about me I could see the rubble of stone and smell the smelting ovens where bronze was melted and forged. The houses were small, block-shaped affairs of whitewashed stone. Lysander knocked on one door, which was answered by a balding man in his forties, who walked with a twisted gait. I soon noticed that one leg was slightly shorter than the other. He grinned when he saw Lysander, welcoming him into his home. Then he saw me. His eyes widened and I felt that I was a slave once more as I had been in my youth, being appraised by a buyer.

"Wherever did you find him?" Amphitrous (for that was his name) said huskily. I stepped back and brushed his hand from my chest. I glared at him. It excited him further. "He's perfect!" the sculptor said with maniacal glee. "Come in. Come in."

I pulled back. "This is a mistake," I insisted.

Amphitrous grinned. "I will make you immortal," he said finally.

For some reason, his tone and his words intrigued me… already immortal… and yet I was still searching for meaning in a life that up to that point had been kill them before they kill me. I entered his home and sat on the offered bench while he puttered about and offered a thin wine and some cheese and dates while he spoke of what he was looking for.

Sculpture had been evolving over the past century. Whereas at first, the sculptors had tried to create works that met the golden mean of perfection in the Egyptian way, creating _kouros_ that approached perfection, but were devoid of life, now they sought to capture life. At the time his words meant little to me, unlettered and unschooled as I was. My life had been a soldier's life. I had lived for the glory of the battle and had moved from one to the next, letting my immortality shield me.

Amphitrous wanted to create statues that would appear to live and breathe. "They will stand for centuries telling those who remain long after we've died… that we were here… that we were men… that we appreciated perfection."

I rose and wandered about his shop, staring at the smaller figures he'd made… household gods and goddesses that were somehow more alive than many of the statues I'd seen in the temples. He indeed had a gift for breathing life into his creations. All the more reason, I thought, to say no. But I didn't. Perhaps it was my vanity, perhaps it was my curiosity… at any rate… I agreed.

"Excellent!" he beamed then ordered me to disrobe that he might take measurements.

I remained at Amphitrous' home for several weeks. During the day, he would take his measurements and draw his plans… mumbling as he worked. Then he formed a small figure in clay that he intently worked on. At last he seemed ready for the creation of the larger bronze figure. He was in a world of his own by that time… but I found it interesting to watch.

At nights, I often accompanied Lysander to the _symposia_ of his friends. It moved from friend to friend's house, each taking a turn hosting the party. Pericles had been a member of this particular group at one time, thus once a week the party still met at the home of Aspasia in his honor.

The second time at her home, we arrived early enough for the ceremonial toast to Pericles' memory. The discussion that night began as one of the need and status of the war with Sparta. Athens was losing… and these men tried to figure out why? I listened and drank lightly as I'd been doing for the last week… spending time in listening to them… and trying to discover some greater purpose in this merriment.

By the time darkness had fallen, and the torches were lit, the party was in full swing and denigrating as it always did, into wine-drenched stupor. Aspasia entered the room then. I'd sensed her on the edge of the party most of the evening, figuring that she was watching me. Like a red-gold vision she appeared against the darkness of the doorway and lifted one hand, gesturing me to follow. I rose immediately when she beckoned, hearing once more laughter and jeers as I left the room.

Once more in the garden, we sat on a stone bench near a pool of water that reflected the stars.

"You are not so drunk this night," she said lightly.

"I wanted my wits about me in your house."

"Can you read?"

I shrugged. "Well enough, I suppose. I know my letters and can read communications on the battlefield."

"But they talk of Homer," she said inclining her head toward the partygoers. We could hear them and the music out here in the darkness. "Can you read Homer?"

I laughed. "Homer was meant to be recited and listened to!"

"Perhaps… but can you read it?" She reached beneath the bench and pulled out a scroll, which she then handed to me. "To truly understand what these men speak of… you must be able to read Homer, Thucydides, Herodotus, the playwrights, and the philosophers yet to come. We who live many lifetimes, cannot just exist. We must learn to improve ourselves… that we might help the mortals around us. Each life we live should make a difference."

I accepted the scroll thoughtfully. I'd never considered doing anything other than what I had always done. I didn't know if I could. "Become more than what we are?" I murmured quietly.

"Yes. The true test of immortality… is who you become… not who you were. We need not always be as we were born to be. We can grow and learn. We have the opportunity to live many lives, and learn from the mistakes of previous ones."

I wondered if she knew of my time with Nestor. I know I bowed my head , feeling the warmth in my cheeks as I thought of the things I'd done as his student. Unrolling the scroll, I tried to make out the words in the darkness… but failed.

"Take it with you," Aspasia said. "It's a gift. When you can read it… we will discuss what it says."

I have that scroll still… one of my cherished possessions. It took me months to read. But in the end I was a better reader. The next one took half as long. And the next one, half again.

In that time, I learned to really listen to the discussions of the _symposia_ as well as contribute… I spent time each week with Aspasia… putting what I'd learned to the test in discussions with her. My statue progressed until the day Amphitrous unveiled it for me. I was astonished. "Is that how you see me?" I asked him as I circled it. The statue's fierce gaze unsettled me.

"You are a warrior," he said. "Fierce and unbeatable in battle. Your gaze warns your enemies that you are coming."

He sent it to Delphi where it stood until the Romans carted it off to Italy. That statue went down with a ship off the shores of Calabria. I was thankful it was lost at the time, as I didn't care for it. He'd caught me though… he'd shown every sinew and muscle, the proud bearing of my stance, and most of all the fiery gaze of my anger. When it was recovered centuries later, it was still in remarkably good shape. I've stood before it in the museum in recent decades and wondered if I was ever that man.

We change, we immortals. We change or we die. Aspasia taught me that. And it was due to her teachings that I moved onto Macedon and my next life as a tutor to the young Alexander. Oh… I didn't change all at once. I was still a soldier… still am a soldier… but I like to think I'm more than that. I like to think that I can at times put away the trappings of a soldier's life… and respond to the arts. Perhaps that is the reason I have chosen my companions over the years from artists of every medium. I find talent, and I encourage it… support it. Musicians, sculptors, painters, writers, poets… I have loved them all.

As for Aspasia, while the men of the _symposium_ thought us lovers, we were not… at least she never took me to her bed though I adored her… and she in her way was fond of me, I think. While we occasionally shared a kiss… a caress, she did not feel comfortable with an immortal in her bed… nor, I admit, did I feel comfortable opening myself to her so completely. We were friends… friends with benefits as a more modern parlance puts it… and remained so until her death. She gifted me with the truth of her first name… Xanthia. You Watchers knew her by the last name she ever used… Rebecca Horne.

May she find peace in whatever afterlife she came to… if we immortals are ever gifted with such. She was a true friend, and an inspiration to us all.


	11. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_**Macedon, circa 351-338 B.C.E.:**_

Hiring myself out as a mercenary, I came to the attention of Macedon's king, Philip, during a battle with the Thracians, wherein I saved his life. An enemy's sword sliced into his shoulder during a fierce battle, and I managed to rebuff the enemy soldier and rescue Philip. I carried him from the field of battle on my shoulders, fighting attackers much of the way, and deposited him with one of our physicians. When he recovered, I was sent for.

From his bed he looked me over carefully with his one remaining eye. He'd lost one in a previous battle, yet its loss did not hinder him… if anything, I think he saw more clearly with one than most men do with two… at least about some things. Struggling to an upright position, he thundered, "You seem free of wounds."

"I was lucky my king," I said from one knee, my head bowed.

"My generals tell me you are skilled with a blade. They say they've never seen one finer."

"They do me great honor," I replied. I'd been working with some of the men to improve their skill. I'd been teaching them to work as a unit… not just each man for himself.

"I hereby make you a general," Philip ordered, evidently thinking I'd be pleased with such a promotion.

I shook my head. "I am not so skilled, my king. I prefer to lead men into battle, not design campaigns."

Philip stared at me thoughtfully. "When we return, you will come when I call you. I will leave you as you are for the time being… but if you promise to serve me faithfully… I may have a job for you… more important than you can ever imagine."

After he dismissed me, I returned to my unit. Some months later, I'd all but forgotten the meeting when I was called to attend the king in his palace. Putting on my best leathers, and polishing my brass until it shone, catching the eye of Apollo, I entered the columned throne room of Philip of Macedon and bowed before the king on his throne. It was simple throne, little more than an ornate camp chair, but set high on a dais so that there was no doubt he was king.

"I am here at your command, my king," I said smartly from my bow.

"Ah… Philotheus," he said, for that was the name I was using at that time, "prompt and courteous as always. My generals tell me that you are the finest swordsman that they have ever seen."

"My king and his generals honor me," I replied.

Philip rose and haltingly descended the dais, one of his legs had never fully regained its strength from a battle in his youth. Yet upon horseback or in his chariot… he was as fearsome a warrior as I had ever seen. He clasped my shoulder. "I have a job for you, I think."

"Whatever my king demands of me," I replied.

"Am I?" he replied quizzically. "Your king I mean. My generals tell me you are not Macedonian."

"I was a boy in Thebes, my king," I admitted.

"But am I your king? For how long? You are a mercenary and… forgive me… but my queen wishes to know how loyal you truly are."

Now an oath and a promise was a heady thing in those days. If I said until my dying day… a day that despite twenty-two hundred years or so… has not dawned… I would be compelled to always serve him. "While Philip is king of Macedon," I replied at last… "I am his man."

His single eye glittered in merriment. "And after I am dead… whom then will you serve?"

I was silent. Behind me I heard the great bronze doors open and the patter of small feet. A boy with golden curls raced into the throne room and was scooped up by Philip with his one good arm. He staggered slightly as the boy settled into his embrace. The boy's legs hung down and he peered at me with one blue eye and one dark eye. It was a startling gaze and I must say I was quite surprised as he regarded me.

Stepping to their side was the boy's mother and Philip's queen, Olympias in all her proud dark beauty. She gazed at me haughtily as if I was a worm beneath her feet. I'd heard the whispers in the camp that she was a witch… a servant of the mother goddess… and a handler of the sacred snakes. She belonged to the old religious cult that had been old in this land before even the Mycenaeans of Aspasia had come here to rule. I saw in a glance that the boy's face and mismatched eyes bespoke the struggle that Philip and Olympias would carry on throughout their lives for the heart and soul of this child. Each loved him… and hated that he was the child of the other. Each sought to mold him into the man they wanted.

"I ask again Philotheus… after my death… whom will you serve," Philip shifted the boy and let him drop to the floor where he stood leaning against his father and staring levelly at me.

I knelt. "As long as I live, I am his servant," I said brazenly. I meant it then… and though I did not always agree with him in later years… I am to this day proud to have been his swordmaster. For it was that job Philip wished me to attend to.

The boy was being tutored by Leonidas, a thin waspish man who was a member of Olympias' family. The boy's skills with a sword had already exceeded his tutor's, and while Leonidas was to continue as the official tutor, Philip wanted his son to receive the best of all possible training. Thus my life and my sword were joined to the boy's for all my days.

He was an eager pupil… and under Leonidas' watchful eye, I taught him more than I'd ever taught a mortal. He was like a sponge… soaking it all in and then asking for more. He was this way about all his studies and about all he ever attempted.

When he was twelve, he saw a horse that none thought could ever be trained. He trained it… and rode it into battle until it was too old and died. He wept for that horse like one weeps for a beloved child or companion. When he was fifteen, Philip managed to oust him from Leonidas' overseeing eye and placed the young prince under the tutelage of Aristotle of Athens. I'd known the teacher of his teacher… Socrates, briefly before his death… though I'd cared little for Plato, Aristotle's teacher. Too solemn a man was Plato… but a wise one though I was seldom in his circle.

It was when Alexander was sixteen, and already a cunning strategist that he learned about immortals.

We were on a jaunt through the countryside… my young prince and his guard. Already he had gathered to him several sons of Macedonian nobility whom he called his Companions. They were a close-knit unit… and I'd had some small success in training them to work as one. Their real test of battle-readiness would not come for two more years, however, when Philip led his troops south into Greece.

On that spring day, however, our hearts were light. Although I was the "old man" of the group… in more ways than one, and Philip's man to keep them all in line, I was one with them. As we neared a flock of sheep running wildly on the hill-slopes, I felt what I had not felt in years… the feel of another immortal. "Wait here," I ordered them, and went in search of the source of the quickening.

Standing above the slaughtered bodies of the young shepherd and a small boy, I found him. Streaked with blood, wild-eyed and dressed in rough animal skins, he snatched a metal spiked club and rounded on me… roaring into the late afternoon sky. I had never felt such power.

He dropped into a stance and swung the club while he laughed. It seemed an odd weapon for one immortal to use against another, but I saw how he'd used it on the boys. He'd crushed their skulls and pounded them to pulp. If I slipped up… he'd do the same to me. And while such treatment would not kill me… I had no doubt that while I was down… he'd find a way to remove my head. And after finishing with me… he would make short work of my young prince and his companions. For they would not know what they were dealing with. I drew my sword as I leapt from the back of my horse and slapped his rump to speed him off to one side.

"Ah…" my opponent said. I could smell the fetid stench of him. "A young one? Do you know what you are boy?"

Now at this time I was about two hundred years old, and having died in my late-thirties, it had been long since anyone had called me a boy. Not even Nestor with his great age had thought to do so. Nor had the beauteous Aspasia. "Old enough to take your head for these crimes!" I shouted, feigning an anger that was only partly pretense… for I was angry that one of us had killed children so thoughtlessly. It was one thing to kill other warriors in the course of battle… it was quite another to kill those who could not stand against us.

"You think this is murder?" he laughed uproariously at me… as if caught in some horrid memory. I closed in on him and then backed away from the reach of his heavy club. I had to keep an eye on that. If he landed a single blow, I would be down, and the battle over.

I crouched, shifting back and forth on the balls of my feet as I watched him lunge and swing at me. I eluded him easily three times. The fourth, he feinted and the metal spikes grazed my freearm, tearing long gashes in it. I blinked away the pain, ignored the flow of blood, and concentrated on his moves. Danaë had taught me how to defend myself against many weapons… but this monster's club was something I had never faced. I had to get the gist of its moves… its weight… and how fast he could change the direction of a swing… before I could launch my own attack. If I closed in too soon… it would be the end of me.

I suffered two more glancing blows, the last one sending me sprawling; my side already beginning to blacken from broken ribs. Nevertheless I had his number now… I knew what he'd do and how he'd react. I rolled onto my wounded side, noting as I rose and scrambled to my feet, the slick wet blood on the grass. My face must have reflected the anger and danger of attacking me that Amphitrous' statue indicated, as he paused and his mouth made a small "ooh!" sound. I hefted my sword with my swordarm, my bloodied freearm held against the spreading blackness on my side. I felt in my sword's familiar weight, the move and the power I would need to take his head. As expected, he raised his club with both hands and lunged toward me. I waited until he was committed, turned, shifted my sword into my freearm and swung. My sword seemed to sing as it cleaved the air… and his neck.

For a moment he followed through with his blow, the club coming to rest imbedded in the earth. Then he seemed to stare at it as if in confusion. I waited. Slowly his head peeled away from his thick neck and the quickening rose from the stump of his neck in a great torrent of lightning.

I fell to my knees as it arced over me and then plummeted like a great bolt from the sky overhead. His name was Kouris… he had walked the earth… mad for untold millennia. He'd slaughtered children by the dozens once upon a time. He was one of the old ones that Aspasia had told me of… the ones who were before the game. I was lifted into the air and buffeted by the power. Around me, trees burst into flames, sheep were roasted alive… and the bodies of the dead were consumed until only ash remained. And still the power spent itself. Above me was only darkness… about me, beneath the roar of the lightning, I could hear the torrents of rain which fell. The power coalesced into me… and then spread outward in all directions with a great boom!

I fell to my knees again as the power released me from its grasp, gasping for breath in the pouring rain. Hearing footsteps, I rose unsteadily and lifted my sword… ready to fight once more.

It was my prince. He stared at me with wonder, then smiled. "My parents both think you are one of the heroes… a child of the gods. It is why they agreed to let you teach me. My father believes you are Herakles returned to us. My mother thinks Zeus sent you to me to raise me up."

I'd heard the gossip at court over the years. I'd heard Olympias and Philip argue throughout the palace. Olympias claimed that she was descended from Achilles and that Alexander was not Philip's son… but the son of Zeus. A blind man could see he was Philip's, however. He had the same fine wide brow, the aquiline nose, and the broad shoulders. He was his father's son… but he was also his mother's. She had filled his head with the belief of his divinity. Now he'd seen the aftermath of my battle with Kouris, and had interpreted it as a sign that his mother was right..

"One day," he said clasping my arm, "I too, will feel the fire from heaven and know the touch of the gods."

He had it all wrong, but I wanted to believe it was possible. At that time I did not know how it was that some men and women died and became immortal. I had never felt the gentle hum of a pre-immortal… not all of us do… and it would be long before I felt it and knew it for what it was. But at the time… I wanted to believe that my young prince would be one of us. He kept my secret… telling the Companions only that I had fought a criminal who had killed the shepherd and his brother, and that the storm had broken out immediately after.

He wanted me with him from then on… and he plied me with questions when we were alone about what it meant to be touched by the gods. I wanted only to fade back into the ranks of the army and be unknown. I begged him to make certain no record of my name or exploits ever made it into the records that the chroniclers of Philip's court kept. He agreed, and managed to purge my name from them, if not my existence.

In 338 B.C.E. by the modern method of dividing time, Philip was ready to invade Greece… and Alexander at eighteen, was ready for his first command.

"Keep him safe," Philip charged me as we readied to attack my old city of Thebes. I was to fight at my young prince's side and make certain that no blow fell which could destroy him. But keeping that boy safe was a hard job. He was always in the thick of the battle. He fought without fear. He would not send his Companions anywhere that he would not also go. His exploits were the stuff of legend. He truly believed that if he died in battle… the gods themselves would raise him up as they had me. The city-states fell to us one by one until we ringed the gates at Athens. I trembled within… wondering if the city I had grown to love would now be ground under the conqueror's heel. But Philip regarded Athens highly… and sued for peace. He sent Alexander… glorious, beautiful Alexander… into the city as his emissary.

The boy prince… his golden hair kissed by the sun, his youthful countenance pleasing to the eye, was received with great applause and ceremony. Athens surrendered to Macedonian rule to spare herself and her temples. Athens… the birthplace of democracy… the jewel of the old Mycenaean culture was Philip's to rule… and Alexander's to walk.

He roamed it all. He climbed to the Acropolis and stared out at his lands. "I will one day rule all I can see," he said with certainty. He knew enough to humble himself before the gods… and to do whatever was necessary to appease them… or the local priests wherever we went. The Greeks loved him. He was exactly what they believed men should be… beautiful, fair, and perfect. They believed that a man who was fair and pleasing to the eye… was so because the gods smiled on him.

I held my own counsel on that and stood silently by his side… ever watchful for the dagger in the hand of an assassin, or the poison in the offered cup. Silent and all but invisible… I was at his side as I would be for the next fifteen years.

-----

Once the treaties were signed, we made our way back to Macedon at the head of a long retinue of tribute. Slaves… gold… grain… whatever we needed was ours for the asking. Alexander thought he was returning home as the triumphant "golden" boy of his father. But in our absence… the marital bickering between Philip and Olympias had reached murderous proportions.

Philip had his eye on the daughter of one of his advisors as a new wife. At the same time, Olympias said a few times too often and too loudly, and in front of the wrong people… how Alexander's success was due to his being the son of Zeus… and not Philip's son. Their arguments escalated until Philip set her aside as queen… planning to make the young Cleopatra his queen. Philip always did have an eye for the young ladies. He'd gone through a succession of them over the years… and there was no reason to think that his marrying the daughter of one of the Macedonian nobles would end up changing so many things. But it did.

Now Philip could have as many wives and consorts as he wished… but he could have only one queen. Her children were the official heirs. His setting Olympias aside was a harsh blow to the woman's hopes and dreams for her son. For if Cleopatra were to have a son… that son would inherit Philip's kingdom… not Alexander. Once again I stood helplessly by as the two of them fought over Alexander's heart and soul. Each wanted him to be the son they wanted. Neither ever understood that Alexander was his own man… and had his own dreams. And yet… he needed his mother's love and approval as one needs breath. Also, he wanted his father's approval more than anything else. The state of affairs between his parents was literally ripping him apart.

I found him often at that time… sitting alone and glowering in contemplation. "I will show them both," I overheard him say one day. "I will become so famous… so powerful… that their names will be remembered only because of mine." In a way… that's what happened. Most schoolchildren have heard of Alexander the Great. But Philip and Olympias are little more than footnotes in his biographies.

As Philip's man, I was not welcome in Olympias' quarters. The only reason I was still tolerated in Alexander's retinue… was because my prince wished it. I had sworn my life to his at Philip's request… and an oath in that day and age was something men took seriously. While I drew breath… I would remain loyal to my prince.

The tale of Philip's wedding banquet is likely well known to you… how Philip drank too much… a trait Alexander also shared. At any rate… both were drunk… both simmering with anger. Alexander did not like that his mother was being set aside… nor did he like the insinuation that he was now illegitimate. He was the prince of Macedon… and its champion. He wanted respect. Specifically… he wanted his father's respect… and his love. He insulted Philip. Philip… too drunk to control his rage… grabbed a sword as he attempted to impale his son. He tripped over the feet of one of the party-guests… perhaps he was intentionally tripped by someone attempting to prevent him from murdering his own son. Alexander laughed at his father on the floor, commenting that Philip couldn't lead them in battle as he couldn't even cross from one couch to another. Philip exiled him.

It took the combined efforts of all of Philip's advisors to lift his pronouncement against Alexander. Philip's advisors knew who was the real power on the battlefield now… and whom it was that the soldiers of Macedon would follow. They hoped to prevent a civil war that would mean the end of Macedonian prominence. It worked… but things were hardly better between father and son… especially after Cleopatra gave birth to a son. Alexander felt his kingdom slipping away… and knew there was nothing he could do.

I have always believed that it was Olympias who seduced Pausanias and encouraged his anger at Phillip for slighting Alexander. Pausanius assassinated Philip in the late summer of 336. Alexander pursued the young man as he fled… and ordered him killed by Phillip's bodyguard. Whether he knew of his mother's plans… or whether he was a part of them… my young prince successfully rid himself of the one person who might have shed light on the affair… and… with the support of the army… proclaimed himself king.

I cannot shed light on these matters as I was in the dark on them. Olympias distrusted me. Philip was dead… and Alexander never spoke of these events in all the years that followed.

I watched him crowned and stood quietly to one side in silent agreement, as he spoke of fulfilling his father's pledge to conquer Persia and to unite the known world under the Greek system of government and culture. I recall wondering if his reasons for conquest were any better than the ones Nestor had once held. But Nestor had not conquered to acquire… only to create pandemonium. Alexander would spread the light of Greek culture and peace throughout the world… and his reign would usher in the Hellenistic Age of the world. Unfortunately… my prince would know little peace in his own life.

Even today, in the far corners of the known world at that time, his name is still known. But most never knew of his search for the proof of his divinity… and his immortality. Of these things… I knew all that transpired. For I was there.


	12. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Knowing that immortals existed, knowing that I was such an immortal, inflamed my young king. "How do you know I'm not one of you?" Alexander challenged me one day as he was preparing his plans to circle through Asia Minor and down the cost. He planned on liberating the Greek cities on the mainland from Persian control.

"I don't know, my king, but I'm not willing to take the chance and find out," I explained.

"Take the chance?"

"The only way to know for certain… is for you to die. Neither I, nor your men, nor your people… can chance that. Not now. This war we wage is too important."

For the moment… that seemed to satisfy him. Then we were both caught up in the march from Macedon, east into Asia Minor and down the coast. The history of the battles is well written… how one by one the Persian army under the Persian king Darius was bested time and again… and kept withdrawing. Theirs was a bigger army, but Alexander's was better trained… and he planned his battles well, choosing the best locations so that even if he held the low ground, he had other things in his favor… like the angle of the sun.

You can read the histories if you want to know his strategies… his benevolence to the freed cities… and his terrible wrath at those who put up too big a struggle. Like Philip, his wrath at those who brushed aside the hand of friendship or who rose up against him… not seeing him as liberator but as conqueror… was terrible to behold.

His focus in many of the battles was to acquit himself nobly by fighting as if there were no tomorrow. He learned that from me, I suppose. I followed where he led… and watched his back as I had in the previous campaigns. I feared for him… for all of us… should he fall in battle.

But it didn't happen. Darius fled the field time and again… taking his forces east… back into the heart of the Persian empire. Many of Alexander's generals wanted to pursue him then, but my young king had other plans. He needed to fully subdue all the city states we'd liberated… making certain that there were no pockets of resistance in his rear… pockets that could disrupt supply lines and communications. He wasn't conquering just to be conquering… he truly wanted to build a better world. That he learned from Aristotle.

His journeys along the rim of the world around the Mediterranean Sea led him at last to Egypt where he was proclaimed god and pharaoh as he entered at the head of his triumphant army. "See Philotheus," he laughed. "Now here are a people who know divinity when they see it."

In Egypt, he put into action his plans for the unification of the world under one language, one culture, and one government with himself as king. Not finding the Egyptian cities pleasing, with their narrow twisted lanes and haphazard building, he drew up plans for a new capital city… one worthy of this ancient land of pyramids and the "golden mean". His new city was to be called Alexandria… after him, of course; and it was to be only the first of many he would found throughout his empire. But it was the best of them… the only one that lasted… the one that to this day still hearkens back to his Hellenistic World Order. Alas… he never saw it completed. His journeys and his campaigns kept him forever moving onward.

Before he left Egypt, to pursue Darius and his forces in Persia, he worshipped the Egyptian gods, and feeling that he needed a sign from them to assure his throne, he traveled south to the Oracle at Siwa. Once more, his desire to learn if he were truly a god… the son of a god… was stronger in him than common sense. The journey into the desert was a harsh one for the forces he took with him. They could not carry enough water, and the heat blazed down upon them with unremitting force. Alexander likely lost more men to that journey than he had in battle… but it was done.

Arriving in Siwa, he proclaimed himself before the priests and dutifully gave offerings to the gods and followed the protocols of the temple. At this temple, the penitent at last wandered through a maze of rocky corridors to an inner chamber open to the sky… and there alone asked his question of the gods. On the way out… the oracle would give him the answer revealed by the gods. I don't know his question, but I can guess. He wanted to know if Zeus-Ammon… the Egyptian name for Zeus, was truly his father. The oracle proclaimed him so. Of course… all pharaohs were supposedly the children of Zeus-Ammon.

I likewise wanted to ask a question of the oracle. Once my king had finished with his… I traveled in through the maze and stood in the small grotto… staring up at the cloudless sky. A hawk keened as it flew overhead. Lifting my face to the heavens… I let the brilliance of the sun overhead blind me for a moment as I spoke aloud the question on my heart. "Is there a purpose to my life?" I remained for a moment, listening to the hawk and then turned and made my way out. As I approached the oracle I bowed and dropped humbly to one knee. There was no feel of another immortal about. This oracle was mortal.

"To teach and to serve. To be guardian of the future, and champion of the righteous," came his words. In hindsight… they were a bland pronouncement that could apply to anything. I fixated on the word champion at the time… the task my lady had once asked of me. I bowed humbly and left. Now I realize that archeologists, who have studied the site at Siwa, say that words spoken aloud in the grotto could be heard by the oracle, if he stood in the right spot. That way he always knew the question asked of the gods. Yet even now, I wonder if they knew even more. Did the gods give them extra knowledge? I have no answers.

Buoyed by their calling him the son of a god, Alexander's face shown brightly for some time… as if the gods themselves had lain a mantle on him that proclaimed him one of their own. Filled with exuberance and plans for the future… he returned to Alexandria, set governors in power as he'd done at all other major stops along the way from Macedon, and gathered his troops for the journey east.

His army, by that time, had been filled with the addition of mercenary troops who'd been left behind by the Persian withdrawal, and troops from each of the "liberated" lands. His Macedonians were in charge, however. He and his generals continued to plan battles and strategies. I continued to train groups of men to become unbeatable units. These I would order to be arranged about our king as he fought. So far, other than an immortal I had sensed in Darius' forces, but had not identified… I'd felt no others on our way. For that I was grateful, for Alexander wished to meet another. At the time… I didn't know why.

As we traveled east, into lands I'd helped pillage while part of Nestor's army earlier in my life, I could still see the ravages of chaos on the land. These lands suffered under attack after attack of opposing forces… and their few resources were used up or destroyed by the armies that battled over the sand. I've often wondered why the gods set it so that the people least able to survive these depredations, were the ones who seemed to be in the path of them. Why should this barren land be the focal point of so many campaigns?

Again, you can read all of the histories to learn which cities Alexander attacked, where the battles were fought, where he again and again founded new cities, and how he dealt with the local populace and the local gods. You don't need me for that. His chroniclers were always there… always writing things down… always portraying him as the salvation of the world. Further and further we traveled into Asia… and further and further from Greece. Wealth beyond imagination was ours… even the lowly foot soldier's portion of the booty was… after a time… more than could be imagined. No wonder the Persian court was supposedly so fantastic if this much wealth was everywhere. We liberated much from the remnants of Darius' stragglers. In time, we were the ones with the massive retinue of gold, slaves, silks, and camp followers. We were like a city on the move.

Most of the Macedonians began to long for home. They wanted to take their wealth and retire to estates as was their right. Yet still Darius retreated before us… and still Alexander followed. He'd captured the Persian royal family… Darius' mother, wife, and daughter… and treated them with respect. He wanted Darius to surrender and bow to him as the greater king. In the end… it never happened. Darius fled and was at last betrayed by one of his counselors. He died before Alexander ever caught up with him.

My king's anger knew no bounds after this. He determined to destroy Bessus, Darius' successor. Just as he had angrily destroyed cities that had betrayed him, or refused to accept him, now his anger was focused on Bessus. What he didn't know… what I wanted to keep from him… was that Bessus was an immortal like me. Likely the one whose presence I'd felt since those early battles in Asia Minor.

Once he finally captured Bessus… the Persian's men spoke of his arising from death… Alexander looked at me… as if to know the truth. I nodded with some worry. Although I knew Bessus would return from death… it was for me to face him… alone. I told my king so.

For whatever reason, my king 's anger at Bessus was so great that he wanted to be certain that the Persian would die. He devised a death so devious… that no immortal could have escaped. He found two sapling trees and ordered that they be tied down toward each other. He tied Bessus to both trees and then smirked with satisfaction as he ordered the restraining ropes cut. The trees snapped upward and back to their original positions. Bessus was ripped in half. It did the trick. Alexander and his forces saw the quickening that erupted and managed to find me. Thankfully it was a minor one. Bessus must have been only recently an immortal… perhaps in one of the battles we'd fought. He might not have even truly known what he was… I learned little, if anything from his power.

I am told that as the storm erupted, most eyes were on Alexander who stood in the midst of it, arms raised. "See!" he yelled to his men. "The gods themselves approve of my actions! The fire from heaven proclaims my divinity."

I was helped to my feet by one of the Companions, Ptolemy, who looked at me strangely, as he'd been one of the few to see the lightning strike me. I brushed at the smoldering scorch-mark on my armor and shrugged. "If one stands too close to a god," I gestured at our king, "one sometimes gets burned." I never thought he'd remember that day… the fire from heaven hitting me… but, as I learned centuries later… he did… and left the tale of it for his descendants. Later, in private, I dared to argue with my king about purposely arranging such displays. "We immortals are to meet one on one in battle! No one else should ever interfere! Our battles and our deaths are not for public view!"

"Who says?" he asked. I could see that all of this was going to his head. "He didn't deserve an honorable death and I was not about to let you take the glory. Did you see Philotheus? Did you see how the power surrounded me? I will be one of you! I will live forever and bring peace to the world! I will travel, if I must to the ends of the earth to accomplish this! I will be god on earth! This game… this gathering is nothing! It is foolishness itself to kill one another off! He was a criminal and I gave him a criminal's death!" By this time… his voice was so loud, I'm certain others heard it.

I should have left him then. I should have moved on and faded back into obscurity within the army of some other would-be conqueror… but I didn't. I remained true to my oath. I stayed with him throughout all the battles and campaigns that remained. I watched over him… still uncertain if he truly were one of us. If he were… he would need my help during the time he died his first death. I'd have to watch over him until he revived. I prayed often during that time that it would be a swift revival… that I would have the time and the cleverness to arrange it all. That he'd have to leave this life and disappear… never occurred to me… not then.

He continued to drink heavily, becoming more and more like Philip as the months and years passed. He married to secure the peaceful addition of another kingdom to his. He dealt with rumors of dissatisfaction in the Macedonian ranks with deadly force… often wiping out entire families as a warning to others. I saw him turn from the golden-haired savior of the world, to a half-mad despot as the wealth and power of Persia gradually corrupted him. Everything was just too easy for him. And his demons… those voices of his parents from his youth… compelled him to strive ever harder. He needed to be the best. He needed to be the strongest… the fastest… the most clever. He needed to achieve more than any man alive before or after him ever would. He drove his men as hard as he drove himself.

In the end, they turned on him. Oh… not by attacking him… but by simply refusing to go further. The change in him was remarkable. Something seemed to go out of him as he sulked like the legendary Achilles in his tent. He seemed depleted somehow. Perhaps it was the fever… likely malaria… that he kept suffering from. It seemed to rob him of his strength. Day after day he seemed to sweat away his power and life force. And yet, he rallied from it again and again… and kept on. He had a wound that festered in the heat. Combined with the fevers… he became pallid, his brow drenched in sweat. He lay listlessly about… raging in a delirium for days. The days stretched into weeks. Again he rallied. We moved on. Again he fell ill.

His chroniclers record that at the last audience he willed his kingdom to whoever was the best… the fastest… the most clever… the strongest. Those about him could not wait for him to die. Many gathered their forces and immediately left to take control of some part of the empire. Others had the decency to wait. He'd rallied before… they had faith he would do so again. And they feared what he would do to those who had left.

But this time, he did not rally. I heard in those words he spoke, the truth of what he hoped… that he would arise immortal… and be one of the chosen ones… the quickened ones who would reign forever. His fevered gaze fell on me.

I was with him when he finally died… as were others. I swept them all out of the tent and stood guard. I heard them scream through the tent that they _had_ to tend to the body. They had to embalm it in the Egyptian manner before the heat of that cursed land made it impossible.

Still… I believed and I waited… keeping watch throughout the night and into the next day. I felt nothing in him. I now know that one who dies of fever or illness, even if the immortal potential is a part of him… does not revive. I didn't know it then. And… as I said… I never felt the potential about him. But at the time… I was determined to give him that chance.

Finally I admitted defeat and let the priests who would handle the embalming in. I retreated to the edge of the camp and stared out at the world spread before me. I was free again. I had fulfilled my oath to remain as long as he ruled. I had not deserted him even in death. I could go where I wished and do what I wished. I, like many of the others, had a great deal of wealth. I could buy myself some kingdom and settle down for a time. Instead, I exchanged most of my wealth for fine jewels, which were easier to transport and hide. I accompanied the body of my king back to Alexandria in Egypt to pay my final respects at his tomb before setting my face to the south… and wandering for a time into lands I'd never known.

In later years, I heard that his wife Roxanne gave birth to a son, but as to whether it was truly his, I have no knowledge. Both came under the protection of Olympias for a time. But both died early deaths. His kingdom was divided among his generals. They were welcome to it. I had no wish to rule anyone.

Aspasia had told me that each life we live should make a difference. Somehow we should take what we'd learned and make the world… or at least the life of someone better for our being there. I wasn't certain I accomplished that with him. The world he conquered was better off, for the most part while he lived and for some time after his death. As he'd hoped, his name and his deeds lived on after his death. He achieved a more mortal… immortality than we who must live in the shadows.

While I would fight in wars for many more lifetimes… while I would take mortal lovers and care for them… he owned my heart. I sometimes wonder though, if he'd been better off never to have known me… or what I was. His parents formed him. He was the child of their hopes and dreams… and the inheritor of their failures and weaknesses. Yet somehow, he is remembered. He believed in his divine destiny and he reached for it with both hands. That it eluded him… or at least an immortal life did if not immortality… does not diminish his achievements. He was never satisfied with things as they were… he strove always for something more… something better… something beyond the next mountain. The world will probably never see his like again.

I am proud to have known him.


	13. Postlude

**Postlude**

**Niebos, December 2010:**

As Phillip's voice died away, Stefan Portocullis sat silent in his chair. It was past midnight now, and from where he sat, the old Watcher could see moonlight reflected on the ripples of the Aegean Sea. He hated to even move or disturb the thoughtful immortal. Finally the old man sat forward and clicked off the recorder, carefully removing and marking the third disk. Almost reverently he slipped it into a case.

Phillip stirred. "Is that it for tonight?"

Portocullis smiled thinly. "Yes… it has gotten rather late. Perhaps it would be best to stop this evening. We can take this up another time. After all… we still have over two thousand years of history to cover."

"Ah… but the beginnings are given… and in the beginnings you meet the child and see the man he will become; you come to know the rebellious and searching youth… and see where his questions led him," Phillip chuckled with a shrug.

"One thing more, if I may," Portocullis said as he packed up his equipment. "Purely a personal question. Why did you settle on Phillip as a name?"

The old immortal laughed merrily. "Well blame that on Eleanor. Every time I ran into her… no matter what name I was using… she tended to call me Phillip… the name I was using when I first met her. After a while… it seemed a part of me. Antinous was the same. Until he gave her his true name, she called him Edward. I eventually did the same. Sure… to mortals, and aloud… we used whatever names we'd chosen… but in private… and with each other… we became what Eleanor called us."

"Yes… the meetings. Perhaps next time, we'll discuss these parties of yours… the ones with Methos and Darius and Eleanor," suggested the old Watcher hopefully.

"Well… I have no problem discussing dead immortals… but discussing the living ones? I might have to check with them. After all… I wouldn't want to tell you something that they don't want you to know."

"I'm certain whatever you tell us will be sufficient," Portocullis said with a smile. He lifted his closed briefcase by the handle and let out a great breath. "Thank you for this evening."

"My pleasure," Phillip replied. He was already pouring another glass of wine. After Portocullis closed the door to the study, Phillip turned out the single lamp and sat back to stare out the window. His ghosts were with him now… the angels and the demons. He saw them all… Danaë, Nestor, Aspasia, and Alexander… the ghosts of his youth who seemed to close in on him with frightening solidity… their pale faces seemed to glow in the shadows about him. Shuddering momentarily, he swallowed down his wine, then poured another glass… as he contemplated a freighter moving through the waves on the horizon. "Strange," he murmured softly. "Of all of us… I would have thought I would be the first to die… and yet I remain." He lifted his wineglass. "To all of you… who made me who and what I am… to those named and unnamed. _Salut!_"

**Author's Afterword:** This concludes the first portion of Phillip's story of his life. If there is enough interest, I'll do the research for the next period of history. I had a great deal of fun studying classical Greek history again, as well as the the events of Alexander's life. In addition, I looked at art from the period, and let it inspire me. For those interested in Phillip's "statue", you can check the web for pictures of the Warrior of Riace, a most astounding piece of art. I did fudge the dates for its creation to fit into this story.

I recalled the love story of Pericles and Aspasia from college history classes, and had read that Rebecca Horne (Xanthia) may have been the lover of Agamemnon. I simply extrapolated that story and also had her be the famous courtesan whom Pericles left wife and family for.

The _symposia_ of Greek culture were essentially as described. One has only to read Plato to get a glimpse of their racy nature.

This is one of three shorter tales that developed out of the writing for the next "long" story in my series. The other two are _**Lost in the Shadows**_ and _**Fallen Embers**_. In all cases, I felt the stories needed the room to be developed fully, rather than to be given only a cursory paragraph or two. While writing them has delayed the writing on my longer piece, their creation has also given me a fuller understanding of the characters involved, and the events which have shaped who they have become.

I look forward to comments and suggestions on all my stories. I hope that those of you who are new to my work, will read and comment on the others.

As always, I remain,

elle

&&&


End file.
